Complications Abound
by sharmini
Summary: What if Guinevere was Lance's girlfriend first? A thought that became a story. Modern AU. Kind of funny.
1. Chapter 1

Author's note: Oh dear, what have I done? This is a modern AU and now that it is in a tangible form, I feel as if I am risking offending _Merlin_ fans by posting this. But the story-teller in me is asking me to go for it. It is also my first attempt at a multi-chapter story.

If you like it, do tell, so that I can post the next chapter.

And if you don't, do tell, so that I can take this one out.

This chapter is rather rambling, a long-winded prologue, if I may. I just let loose and hopefully did not stray too far from their characters.

I appreciate feedback, but pray be gentle.

I do not own _Merlin_. Still fervently hoping to own the Crowned Prince of Camelot.

* * *

Merlin shivered as he opened the door to his flat. It was late autumn, but the weather tends to lean more towards winter and London was gripped with unrelenting chill that made Merlin regret his decision to decline Arthur's offer to follow him on his business trip to Barbados. He entered the flat and switched on the light and the heating, shedding his coat into the cloakroom. He took off his shoes and went into the living room. Throwing his keys into a bowl on the coffee table in the middle of the room, Merlin turned to the answering machine, blinking red and ominous. There would be messages for him, he was sure. His mobile phone battery died somewhere during lunch and he knew at least two people who would have rung him. He was right. There were two messages for him.

"_Merlin! Where the hell are you? You are not dead, are you? I have rung twice already. Are you with a woman? Or is it a farm animal? Glad you're getting some, mate, but be at the airport at quarter past two, all right? And, Merlin, DON'T BE LATE!" _

_ "Hey, Merlin. I got bumped up to an earlier flight out of Milan, so I should be arriving at two. Pick me up, mate? Thanks a whole bunch and there's a set of miniatures I swiped from the mini bar for you."_

Merlin rummaged through the drawer's of the side table where the answering machine was, listening to the messages play out as he searched the charger for his mobile phone. He found it and plugged it in, switching on his phone.

Sixteen missed calls.

Nine from Arthur, who probably thought he was killed and checked to confirm it.

Two from Lance, who probably knew Merlin was busy and decided not to bother him after that.

Three were from Morgana, probably in response to Arthur telling her that Merlin might be mortally injured in some accident with a palette and a paintbrush.

One from Gaius, to check in, because no doubt Arthur would have gotten hold of him too.

And one more from a long line of numbers that Merlin was sure was all the way from a posh hotel in Barbados.

There were also three text messages. All with the same message.

**WHERE ARE YOU? WHY WON'T YOU ANSWER?? **

Only one person always texts in full words and in capital letters. Arthur was relentless when he feels one of his friends was in peril. It sometimes never occurs to him that other people might be busy or occupied with doing something else. And only Arthur would be inclined to think that a dying man would have time to read and send a reply to a text message.

Merlin quickly punched in his response to all who had called him, before Arthur sent in the Scotland Yard to look for him.

**Am safe been busy**

To Arthur and Lance, he added an extra line. **Will wait at airport. Cheerios **

Almost immediately, he received replies to his text messages.

**BRING THE JAG. NOT YOUR BLOODY VAN. **

**Ur safe. Thot u fell in2 ur cereal. Bring A's Jag. X ur van. Please. **

Merlin smiled when he saw the texts from Arthur and Lance. Since they both asked so nicely, Merlin decided that he must do as they asked.

**Promise. Jag it is. **

*******

"Arthur is going to kill you."

Lance stood in front of Merlin, regarding the vehicle that the latter had brought to pick him and Arthur from the airport. It certainly was not the Jaguar that they both had insisted Merlin brought. Lance wondered if they should have text Merlin with serious bodily harm should he refuse to bring the specified car. Well, it was too late for any of that, and in any case, threat or no threat, Merlin would have brought his ridiculous van anyway, just to get a good laugh out of annoying him and Arthur.

"You're here to protect me," Merlin replied, as he opened the passenger door of his van for Lance to stow his things in. The van, if that is what one calls the ancient vehicle that would not have looked out of place in a scrap yard or a period film from the 1940s, was an ugly brute of a machine that emitted enough black smoke to single-handedly engulf London in a perpetual haze. It could seat five or six person; could being the operative word here for there were only seats in the front, with the driver. The seats at the back have long ascended to PVC heaven, for Merlin had taken them out so that he can keep his art supplies at the back. The van moved on diesel and prayers. It was more of a hazard than a novelty on the road, but Merlin loved it too much to sell it off. He also lacked self-preservation or dignity whenever he chooses to bring out the monstrosity for short drives.

"I would not mind being an accomplice this time," Lance muttered, as he swung his suitcase into the van. He dropped his carry-on next to the suitcase and pulled the door shut, with a bit more energy that necessary. "You promised, Merlin."

"I did," Merlin said, grinning. "I just didn't mention that I will bring it today. Maybe the next time when I pick you guys up!"

"He is going to kill you," Lance said, looking rather downbeat. "You were a good friend, Merlin. I'll make sure they inter your van into your tomb as well."

Merlin laughed, though he was beginning to wonder if the van had been a bad choice. Arthur would be in a bad temper, with Merlin not answering his calls yesterday and from the flight. And when he sees the van…yes, it is certain. Merlin is dead.

"I'm going to give Morgana a call," Merlin said, taking out his mobile phone.

Lance laughed when he saw that Merlin was really spooked. Putting a hand on Merlin's shoulder, he guided his friend towards the airport to wait for Arthur. "It's no use, Merlin. As protective as Morgana is of you, you know very well both Pendragons hate that van," Lance told Merlin, as they walked towards the arrival terminal. "Sorry, mate. You're finished this time."

Merlin groaned. Then, an idea struck him. "We'll just go home and bring back the Jag."

Lance was not looking at Merlin when he said this. His eyes were on the arrival gate of the flight from Barbados. A crowd of tired, but decidedly happy and badly tanned passengers were coming out. And as if the people knew Arthur Pendragon was making his way to the terminal, the crowd parted and Arthur was seen entering the terminal, a gaggle of giggling air stewardesses around him. The girls were looking at him as if he was their personal gift from God and Arthur was using his smile and charm to its maximum wattage.

Merlin breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God for pretty stewardesses. Lance patted Merlin's back, indicating that the younger man would live to see another day.

Arthur cleared Customs and came towards his friends, impeccable in his business suit and coat.

"I thought you were dead," he greeted Merlin. "How was Milan, Lance?"

"And yet you still sent in three text messages," Merlin pointed out, as they walked out of the airport.

"United kicked Milan's arse all over the San Siro," Lance remarked. To which, Arthur held out his fist for Lance to bump. "Next stop…"

"Old Trafford!" Arthur exclaimed. "We must be there, mate!" They bumped fists again. Merlin rolled his eyes, but did not comment. He was in the verge of mortal danger and suddenly realized the usefulness of the art of silence.

They were out of the airport terminal and were headed towards the parking lot when Arthur saw the van. Its neon yellow paint was unmistakable, even under the feeble afternoon sunlight. The choice of paint was Merlin's, who thought that his van should be an expression of individuality and boldness.

As if the van needed more attention than it already gets.

Arthur saw the van from where they were standing. Eyes narrowed and teeth gritting, he turned to Merlin, who suddenly became very interested in his sneakers. Lance turned his face away, a futile attempt to suppress his laughter.

"Let's go," Arthur's voice was cold. He marched determinedly towards the neon monstrosity, Merlin and Lance a few steps behind. Merlin groaned inwardly. Arthur should just kill him and get it over with. Now, Merlin has to be on the look out on when he was going to strike. Somehow, Merlin knew that even if he survives the day, there is no telling when Arthur would get his retribution. And there was no doubt, Arthur will.

***

"For God's sake, Merlin, you're just ordering salad! What is taking you so long?"

Arthur's exasperation was reaching boiling point. They were at the restaurant at the Dorset Hotel, at the behest of Lance, who insisted on a real English lunch before they went home. It was rather late for lunch, but the Pendragon name and reputation ensured that they would get their meals at whatever times they wished. It is just not Arthur's surname that gives them this privilege; Merlin's donated several of his artwork to the hotel and Lance has always shown impeccable manners to the staff, which makes the trio's imposition hardly a burden. It certainly helps the trio's cause that the head chef at the restaurant was a woman, happily married with three daughters, who thought that they were the most gorgeous boys in London.

Merlin frowned as he studied his menu, ignoring Arthur. Both Arthur and Lance had chosen steak, medium done, potatoes and the whole works. Merlin, a vegetarian, tried to convert them from covert killers of animals into pacifists, but the Neanderthal in them were too hard to suppress. Finally, he chose his salad; lots of green vegetables, carrots, almonds with a French dressing. He was about to turn his attention to the wine list when Arthur grabbed the menu from him.

"It is too early for us to unleash a drunken Merlin into London," Arthur said to the waiter who was there to take their orders. "Two beers and a glass of chocolate milk for the little 'un!"

"You can't handle a pint, mate," Lance added, possibly taking sides with Arthur because he had to ride in the ridiculous van, sandwiched between his two friends.

"Not fair!" Merlin argued, self-preservation flying out of the window for being denied his wine. He probably had forgotten about his vow of silence in front of Arthur. "It's early still and you're both having a beer!"

"But we are suffering from jet-lag," Lance said stoically. "Our bodies have not adjusted to the UK time zone." By then, the waiter had moved away from their table, the only occupied table in the restaurant, not waning to be dragged into their argument. The logic of the trio was singularly or collectively warped, so the best would be stay away from them when they started one of their arguments.

"True," Arthur added. "Besides, you're the designated driver. So, it's our responsibility and yours to make sure that everyone arrives home safely."

Merlin gave up the argument because the issue of him bringing the van was still out in the open. Arthur and Lance may have been docile on the way to the restaurant but that does not mean that Merlin was in the clear. He sighed, nodding his head as if admitting defeat. "It takes a bigger man to concede defeat."

"You stick to bigger, mate. The rest of us prefer longer and harder," Arthur said. The statement was punctuated by a snort and another fist bump with Lance.

"You are sick," Merlin said. "Both of you." Which only caused the both of them to burst out laughing.

Once Arthur and Lance got over their laughing over the extremely juvenile joke, Arthur asked, "So, what's new?"

"Lancesgotanewgirlfriend!" Merlin said excitedly. He had wanted to tell this the moment he saw Arthur, but the predicament with the van had sort of pushed the whole thing to a side.

Arthur frowned as he looked Merlin. "Merlin, I thought we agreed to only speak Elvish during our _'Lord of the Rings'_ marathon in December." Turning to Lance, he added, "Mate, that was my feet you kicked."

Lance groaned and banged his head on the edge of the table. Arthur knew then that whatever Merlin was telling was big.

"Lance has got a new girlfriend!" Merlin said, grinning triumphantly.

"Lance always has a girlfriend," Arthur pointed out. "You may be discreet, Lance, but I really don't think you've been spending the evenings you claim to be working, alone in the dark room."

Lance sputtered in indignation, appalled that his friends would think he has been engaged in some kinky business when he is working. The sad truth is, such a thought has never occurred to him. He wondered if he needed to re-evaluate certain principles in his life.

"He took the girl to Milan," Merlin said quietly, watching the stunned look on Arthur's expression and the deer-caught-in-the-headlight look on Lance's.

"I…" Lance began, but sure enough, Arthur interrupted.

"You didn't take me to Milan!" Arthur stated. Rich as he was to actually afford buying either one of the club in the Champion's League quarter-finals Lance was covering for his newspaper, Arthur loved nothing more than tagging along with Lance on his sports assignment. _'Press Pass'_ meant access to the changing rooms and dug outs, which are more worthwhile experiences than sitting in the VIP box and browsing the merchandise store for replica jerseys. Arthur was in Barbados when Lance told him of the assignment and would have flown back earlier, had not Lance told him that this time his pass was restricted to the pitch area. That had not deterred Arthur much, until he got the call from his father's office informing him that Uther Pendragon was flying to Barbados to personally seal the deal with the government officials there. Arthur was ranting on speaker phone for two hours that evening.

"But you're not an attractive woman," Merlin pointed out helpfully.

"That is bias," Arthur replied quickly.

An uncomfortable silence fell at the table, as each pondered Arthur's words. But before the silence got awkward, the waiter returned with their drinks order; two pitchers of beer and another pitcher of chilled chocolate milk. Lance made a mental note to leave a nice tip for the waiter because the look on Merlin's face when the waiter put the chocolate milk in front of him was just priceless.

"Guinevere had an assignment in Verona…" Lance attempted to explain, ignoring Arthur's last statement. He was sure he would be interrupted any moment. Honestly, these two were worse than women; they would never keep quiet long enough to listen.

"So her name is Guinevere," Arthur said, taking a sip of his beer. He smacked his lips in appreciation; the bar at his hotel in Bridgetown was full of cocktail crap and not a single British beer.

Lance groaned. He hated being in the spotlight; hated more so if it involved a girl. A discreet guy, he rarely brought any girls home and in the occasions he stayed out late during a date, he always returned to the flat, no matter how late it gets. Of course, he shared everything with his two best friends, but it was just too early to talk anything about Guinevere. Not there was anything to talk about in the first place.

"Yes," Lance replied. "She's an architect. She was in Verona when I told her I was going to Milan," Lance said quickly. He saw Arthur opening his mouth to say something, but interrupted him by holding up a hand. Merlin got a glare, so that held the peace for a bit. "She said she wanted to check out the Cathedral in Milan and wanted to know if we could meet up. She came to Milan, spent ALL her time in the Cathedral and then rung me up to tell me that she too got bumped up to the afternoon flight. I…"

"Gave up the Business Class seat paid for your newspaper to be with her in the romantic confines of Economy Class?" Arthur asked, innocently.

Lance closed his eyes and groaned inwardly. If only it had been that, he thought to himself. "No, I was in Economy and she was in the Business Class seat paid for her by her company. But," he turned his head away from them to hide a shy smile that he could not suppress. "She exchanged seats with the passenger next to mine…"

"And?" Arthur asked, not realizing that he and Merlin had leaned forward towards Lance as if not wanting to miss anything he said.

This time, Lance looked up and was grinning. "Three hour flight, mate, and Guinevere was afraid crashing in the ocean. She held my hands all the way to Heathrow." This time, Merlin was included in the fist bump.

"And as a thank you, Guinevere gave Lance a little reminder of herself when she snogged him at the Custom's checkout," Merlin told Arthur what he saw while he waited for Lance at the airport.

"We weren't snogging!"

"Another few minutes and you would have arrested for inappropriate behaviour in public. There were kids and old ladies in the airport, mate!"

While Lance protested his innocence; it was a normal kiss and Merlin was prone to exaggeration, Arthur nodded in approval. "Good for you, mate. You utilized a woman's irrational fear and emerged a hero."

Lance shook his head, chuckling. The waiter returned with their food and hunger overwhelmed the urge to gossip. Merlin told them about the commission he got from Royal Albert Hall for some portraits in the foyer, which was congratulated by Arthur and Lance. Arthur then declared that lunch was on him. They finished their meal just as the first few customers for teatime began trickling into the restaurant. As Merlin finished his chocolate milk, Arthur suggested that he should get his van from the valet parking, just so that they would not be embarrassed by standing outside the hotel too long waiting for the van to arrive. Merlin obliged and went to get his van, surprised that Arthur had not thrown in another insult with the request.

The moment Merlin left the restaurant, Arthur took his credit card and gave it to Lance, "Deal with this, mate." Surprised, Lance did as he was told, wondering why Arthur was rushing after Merlin. Then, through the glass walls of the restaurant, he saw Merlin outside the hotel, waiting at the valet parking booth. He was talking to the attractive blond girl there, who looked as if she appreciated Merlin's attention. She was probably new to the hotel, which would explain her taking a quite unprofessional interest to a patron of the hotel, something quite forbidden for the staff.

And just then, Lance knew exactly what was going to happen. He collected the receipt from the waiter, leaving a cash tip and made his way out of the restaurant, shaking his head at the events unfolding in front of him.

Arthur had approached Merlin by then, and though Lance was still too far way to hear what they were saying, he had no doubt Arthur addressed Merlin with an intimate endearment. The smile on the girl's face dimmed a little and then completely disappeared when Arthur put a hand around Merlin's waist, pulled him close and planted a big kiss on his cheek. Just then, Merlin's van was delivered and Arthur, death grip on Merlin's hand to stop him from squirming too much, almost skipped to the van. Lance got into the van with them, bursting in laughter as Merlin sped away from the hotel.

"You have no shame, Arthur Pendragon!" Merlin yelled, over the sound of Lance's laughter and the roaring engine.

Arthur was stone-faced, although there was a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Yes, Merlin. I have no shame. Or I would not be riding in this ridiculous van as you have subjected me to."

Merlin groaned. He should have known. He should have suspected something was amiss when Arthur asked _politely_ to get his van. But, he brought it upon himself. It was painful and humiliating.

And Lance was still laughing.

"Shut up, Lance!" Merlin said, which only caused Lance to laugh out even louder, clutching his sides. When he calmed down enough, Lance saw Arthur holding up his fist to him. They bumped fist and then, Arthur started laughing as well. The rest of the drive turned out to be quite enjoyable to Lance and Arthur, who exchanged minute details on Arthur's little prank and Merlin's expressions of horror. Merlin had half a mind to just abandon them on the freeway, van and all, but then again, Arthur and Lance will grab the opportunity and push his van into a lake or something. The idea of throwing them out of the van did not occur to him, because what are friends if not the people who drive you mad and then would kill for you when the situation called for it?

They arrived at the flat, Arthur and Lance in considerably good mood despite riding the van and Merlin looking as black as thunder. Waiting for them was Morgana, sitting on the steps leading to the front door, looking every inch the high-end fashion goddess she was. Merlin parked the van and killed the engine and quickly got out of the car to complain to Morgana.

"Arthur's being a pain," he told Morgana, as he kissed her hello and made his way to open the front door.

"But that's what he is," Morgana said, loud enough for Arthur, who was unloading his things from the van, to hear.

"Hello, evil person," Arthur greeted her, shouldering his carry-all. He approached Morgana and threw her a plastic bag containing coral jewellery he picked up at the gift shop in his hotel as he rushed to the airport. Morgana would have made him go all the way back to Barbados if he failed to bring her any keepsake. He once gave her the complementary shampoo and bath set, but she emptied it into his wine when he went over for dinner at her place. After a few hits and misses, Arthur realized that clothing and jewellery worked best for Morgana.

"Thank you," Morgana said and gave him a quick kiss on his cheek. Though he stepbrother had never kissed her hello, she always did. "What did you do to Merlin?"

"I didn't kill him, or harm him physically," Arthur answered, lugging his things to the front door, which Merlin held open. "That's more than what I can say for you if you had to ride in that van!"

"True," Morgana conceded. "Then why is he sulking?"

"We didn't give him any beer during lunch," Lance said, trailing behind Morgana. "Hello, Morgana."

It may not have been noticeable but Morgana's previously relaxed stance stiffened just a bit as Lance spoke. Lance, the true gentleman he was, kissed Morgana hello and commented on her new dress. It was just the generic, "You look lovely", but it was enough to flush her cheeks. Thankfully, Arthur and Merlin were already inside the house, so they did not notice this. And apparently, so did Lance. Morgana went in after them and had to wait ten minutes for Arthur and Lance to unload all their things before telling them the reason for her visit.

"Why do you have so many luggages?" Morgana asked Arthur, as he brought in the last of his four suitcases. Arthur's luggage comprised of the suitcases, two carry-alls and a briefcase.

"Vanity," Arthur replied, nonchalant.

"Closet metrosexual?" Morgana inquired, eyebrows raised.

"Not out aloud," Arthur said, feigning anxiety. He was too tired to explain to Morgana that he was on a ten day business trip that included meetings with government officials and ministers and that he had to look suitably impressive at all times. She would only suggest shopping and things would escalate from there. "You've already gotten your gift, what are you waiting for? Go and spread misery somewhere else."

Merlin muttered something about Arthur and misery and being a pain, but his voice was drowned by the sound of the television that he switched on.

"I'm reviewing a French restaurant this evening and was wondering if you guys would like to join me?" Morgana asked, perching on the arm of the couch, as Arthur and Lance sat down in their favourite chairs in the living room. Merlin was slouched in a giant bean bag that looked as if it could engulf him entirely, while Arthur was on his massage chair and Lance in the large office chair he nicked from his office.

"United game on the telly. Sorry," Arthur said, holding out his hand for the remote from Merlin, who had buried it deep in his beanie bag.

"But you have already watched it," Morgana pointed out. There was no doubt Arthur would miss any of his favourite club's matches even he was in different time zone.

"Not in high-definition," Arthur replied.

Morgana rolled her eyes, turning to Merlin. "Well?"

"I am day behind for my first painting for the Hall," Merlin answered, looking very guilty for turning down Morgana's offer and for his own procrastination. "Lance loves French food," he added, hoping it would appease her.

Morgana turned to Lance, just a little apprehensive. "Lance?"

"I'll pick you up half-past seven," he said, smiling. "If that is all right with you?"

"That will be perfect. Thank you." She stood up and regarded the guys in front of her. "Well, one out of three is not bad. When I die, it cannot be said that I did not try to enhance your choice of food and culture."

"We don't need culture, Morgana," Arthur said, tiredly. "Just food...medium done."

"Of course," Morgana replied, gathering her things to leave. "You're just much too much of an English Neanderthal..."

"I think it's probably due to aristocratic inbreeding for centuries," Merlin gave his two penny's worth.

"And Merlin does not need culture because he is just another unidentified species of rabbit!" Arthur countered back.

Morgana rolled her eyes, unable to believe what she was hearing. "See you later, Lance," Morgana called out, as she left the flat. She did not see him wave. And he did not see the lovely flush that had crept to her face again at the very thought of spending the evening with Lance at a newly-opened posh French restaurant.

***

Arthur had timed his shower precisely so that the moment he came out, he would be able to catch the Arsenal game kick-off. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he whistled an unknown tune that prompted Merlin to yell, "Shut up, Arthur!". Which was, naturally ignored. He made his way out of his room and into the living room, his hair dripping wet. Lance had already left for dinner with Morgana and Merlin was no where insight.

"Merlin, where the hell are…"

He did not get to finish his sentence because just then, his eyes fell on the woman standing in the middle of his living room. She had her back turned to him, her attention on their entertainment cabinet. She must have heard Arthur so she turned around. She gasped when she saw a half-naked man standing in front of her.

In what seemed like an eternity, Arthur stood in front her, opening and closing his mouth, unable to tear his gaze away from her eyes. His brain activity seemed to have ceased for he had trouble with articulation.

"Here you go," Merlin's voice seemed very distant, but it did help Arthur to snap out of his reverie. Only then he became aware that he was clad in nothing more than a towel. "Arthur! Looks like you've met…"

"Guinevere," Arthur was finally able to speak but found himself quickly loosing that ability as he turned to look at her.

"Arthur," Guinevere said his name. "Nice to meet you."

"My pleasure," Arthur said, wondering why he voice sounded so breathy. An awkward moment ensued as Arthur debated between kissing her hello and shaking her hand. Before he came to a decision, Merlin spoke up.

"Lance accidentally took one of Guinevere's bags," Merlin explained her presence in the apartment.

"I called him, but he was at dinner…" Guinevere continued, shrugging. "I really need that bag, so Lance told me to get it here."

"And I got it for her," Merlin said, handing her the bag.

Guinevere sighed in relief when she saw her bag. "Thank you, Merlin," she said. "I am so sorry to trouble you." Glancing at Arthur, she added, "All of you."

"No problem at all," Merlin replied, grinning. "I am glad to have met you. Lance spoke so much of you." Only those trained to Merlin's speech pattern would have discerned the sarcasm aimed at Lance.

"Well, I better get going," Guinevere said, making a move towards the door. Arthur just stood immobile, blocking her way to the door. Merlin gently pulled him aside, allowing Guinevere to pass. He then went and opened the door for her.

"Thank you, Merlin," Guinevere said.

Merlin waved it aside. "It's no problem, Guinevere," he said, kissing her goodbye. "Take care." Merlin closed the door and turned towards the hallway, only to bump into Arthur, who stood there, unmoving and with a dazed expression on his face.

"What's wrong with you?" Merlin asked, hoping that Arthur's dazed expression was a temporary lapse of his senses.

"Nothing."

It really did not look like nothing at all to Merlin. But he held his peace. Maybe it was just a temporary lapse of senses. Maybe…

Merlin pushed aside all the maybes as plopped down on his beanie bag. He should not make a big deal out of nothing, he told himself. Arthur joined him after putting on some clothes and they watched the game in comfortable silence.

Lance came home just before the final whistle and watched the last few minutes of the game with them. He did not talk about his dinner Morgana because they were concentrating on the game.

It turned out to be nothing after all, Merlin though as he got ready for bed later that night.

But then, why does it feel as if something profound had occurred in their lives in the course of one evening?

***

Extra note from author: Should I continue? Should I not?


	2. Chapter 2

Author's note : I offer my apologizes first hand for taking time to post this. Real life happened and I found myself far away from my laptop and all things _Merlin_. But I had a duty and this is it. I hope that it meets the expectations of all who 'alerted' this story, 'favourite-d' this author and sent in your wonderful feedbacks. This one is for you.

I will update other chapter as soon as I can. For the meantime, though, I hope this will as enjoyable for you to read, as it was for me to imagine it and write it.

I do not own _Merlin_. I will never give up on owning the Crowned Prince of Camelot.

* * *

It may surprise many people but Arthur was an early-riser and inevitably, too much of a cheerful morning person that it borders on irritation for the rest of the general public. This was Merlin's point-of-view. But it was a habit inculcated since his childhood and his years in boarding school and not even the luxury of being his own boss had changed it. He gets up early, goes for a run and then returns to the flat and makes as much noise as he could preparing tea and toast, causing Lance and Merlin to wake without the aid of alarm clocks. Lance does not mind. Merlin does.

The next day, a Friday, saw Arthur in the kitchen, sitting on a chair, his bare feet up on the counter, comfortable in his designer running clothes and watching the morning news on the television above the fridge. He was drinking his coffee when Lance walked into the kitchen.

"Casual Fridays finally taking off at Pendragon Industries?" Lance asked. Lance's office strictly adhered to casual Fridays every day of the working week and he was in his New Zealand Rugby shirt and Dockers.

"I'm not officially back from my business trip," Arthur said, gesturing with his coffee mug towards the television. A news report was highlighting the recently concluded negotiations between the government of Barbados and Pendragon Industries to build four battle ships for the Barbadian Navy Fleet. Uther Pendragon, smiling broadly, can be seen shaking hands with the Barbadian Minster of Defence. The smile on the senior Pendragon's face was disconcerting; it was unlikely look for him.

"He looks happy," Lance remarked, as he poured himself a mug of coffee. He pulled a chair next to Arthur, and settled down to watch the news.

"He is happy," Arthur replied. "He had an afternoon at the spa, a good night's sleep and a Continental breakfast. Some of us were running on stale sandwiches and coffee of questionable origins."

Lance smiled when he heard Arthur, but he did detect the cynical tone behind his voice. Many would have assumed Arthur's ten-day trip to Barbados was nothing more than a tropical holiday for the younger Pendragon, who would be overseeing his staff from the comforts of his deck chair beside the horizon pool. The truth could be no different. Arthur spent every day in meetings with government and military officials. The nights were occupied with sorting out paperwork and bureaucratic red tape. He had not minded one bit, knowing very well he was missing out on the sun, some of the beautiful women in the world and the stunning beach. Pendragon Industries was his pride and joy and Arthur worked hard to make it one of the foremost military contractors in the country.

"You father must be proud," Lance said, not implying which aspect Uther Pendragon would be proud of; his son's hardwork or the contract worth billions.

Arthur shrugged. He stopped caring what his father thought of him. It did not matter to him anymore. Arthur knew he had done well in Barbados.

"Well, cheers, mate," Lance said, holding out his coffee mug towards Arthur. "For whatever you did in Barbados." Lance's genuine intention of congratulating Arthur for a job well done was layered in a playful subtext.

Arthur understood what Lance was trying to say and appreciated it. He touched his coffee mug to Lance and could not help grinning when he said, "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"It's too early for a recap of your sordid tales of tropical debauchery," Merlin remarked, as he entered the kitchen, eyes partially closed because apparently Merlin could not handle the morning sunlight. Years of practice had made him adept enough to move around the flat with his eyes closed. Yet, it could not help him choose coordinating clothes from his wardrobe. Today was a clash of neon green and grey. And from the streaks of colour on the left side of his face that had not washed off from his shower, it was obvious that Merlin had used his palette as a pillow again.

"God, Merlin. Did you have a go at the miniatures I got you?" Lance asked, eyeing Merlin's dishevelled look.

"No…" But the look of guilt was a dead giveaway of the truth. "I was just looking at them. They looked so...pretty under the light in my studio." He had a wistful look on his face as he said this.

"What have we told you about inhaling fumes from your water-colour tubes?" Arthur asked. Both he and Lance were standing now, looking as if they were berating a six-year old.

"I didn't sleep the whole night," Merlin explained, taking the coffee mug Lance was handing to him. "I woke up at one and started painting. I must have painted until I dozed off. I woke up this morning under my workbench."

Even Arthur and Lance had no explanation to how Merlin could have ended up down there. They shook their heads and turned their attention back to the news. Merlin does not watch the news; he claims the bad stuff he hears and sees is bad for his artist's soul. This coming from a guy who watches _Teletubbies_ for entertainment.

"The painting's going to be unveiled on Monday," Merlin told them, as he helped himself to some toast and jam. "You guys are invited as my guests."

Arthur was going to say something about boring people talking about boring stuff and boring people to death as they do so, when Lance put a hand on his shoulder.

"Free – flowing liquor, mate," Lance told him.

"And the artistic type girls who pose for nude portraits?" Arthur added his own suggestion, which Lance responded with a fist bump. Merlin rolled his eyes and groaned.

"I'm going to ring Morgana later," Merlin said, munching his toast. Turning to Lance who was at the sink, rinsing out his mug, Merlin added, "Maybe you should invite Guinevere too."

Lance hung the mug on and turned around to face Merlin. He looked as though he was going to disagree with the suggestion. But before he could say anything, Arthur interrupted.

"Should I bring a date too?" he asked, settling back into his seat.

"Farm animals are not allowed at the Hall," Merlin pointed out, grinning over his coffee mug.

"When are you going understand, mate, that you are not going to make it as a comedian," Arthur told him.

"But he has a point, mate," Lance said, glad the spotlight is off him for the moment. "I've never had any decent conversation with any of the girls you date."

Arthur scoffs, looking amused. "Do you honestly think I date women so that YOU can have decent conversation with them? That is as preposterous as thinking I date them for their conversational skills."

Lance and Merlin thought about what Arthur had said and nodded their approval, congratulating Arthur on his principles.

"Maybe I can make a phone call or two..." Arthur spoke almost to himself, as he pondered which model would be available for a night of Arts and Culture.

"Not Vivian," Merlin said, looking horrified.

"Yes, not Vivian," Lance agreed. "She is under the impression that I am your butler."

"And me your handmaiden or something," Merlin said, frowning.

"Maybe it's because she thinks you're so pretty," Arthur said, remembering the disturbing conversation he had after the woman in question had met Merlin. But she was a convenient date and sometimes, she allows to him stay over for breakfast...

"See you guys later," Lance's voice stopped Arthur's train of thoughts before it became too explicit.

"What about Guinevere?" Merlin asked, looking at Lance as he gathered his coat and crash helmet.

"What about her?" Lance asked, looking as if he has no idea what Merlin was talking about.

"Come on, Lance. Give us a chance to be introduced to her properly. Arthur wasn't even wearing any clothes when she saw him yesterday," Merlin said, urgency in his voice.

Lance looked at Arthur, whose face was surprisingly flushed. Arthur opened his mouth to say something, but Lance interrupted him.

"I think I can live without an explanation for it," Lance replied, making his way towards the doorway. "I knew I shouldn't have left the both of you alone at home unsupervised. Ouch!"

The apple that struck the back of Lance's head fell to the floor and bounced twice before rolling under the kitchen cabinet. Turning around, he saw identical glares from Merlin and Arthur, both with their arms crossed across their chest. Lance's only defence was to grin and make a quick getaway before one of them got to him.

"See you guys later," he said, leaving the kitchen, walking in reverse so that he will know when the next missile would hit him.

"You better make sure Guinevere's there at the Hall on Monday," Merlin called out to Lance.

"I'll see what I can do," was Lance's reply from the living room. "No promises." Moments later, there was the sound of the front door being opened and closed, followed by the powerful roar of Lance's Harley snarling to life.

Arthur and Merlin settled back to their seats to finish their breakfast. As he munched his toast, Merlin could not help saying, "She might be traumatized, you know. Seeing you naked and all."

Arthur turned from the television to look at Merlin, an incredulous expression on his face. "I was not naked. I had a bloody towel on, Merlin."

"The one around your waist was considerably smaller than the one on your head...Ouch!" The orange that struck the side of Merlin's head fell to the floor and bounced twice before rolling under the kitchen cabinet, to join the apple.

Silence prevailed in the kitchen once again, not because Merlin had run out of things to say, but because there was a basket of fruits within Arthur's reach; the contents of which included a medium-sized watermelon that Arthur would not have much difficulty to use as a weapon.

Serious injury caused by fruits aside, there also the reactions of his friends to ponder when Merlin had mentioned the names of the two females currently in their lives. It was interesting to note that Lance had almost dropped the coffee mug he was rinsing when Merlin mentioned Morgana. And Arthur had actually blushed when Guinevere was mentioned.

Interesting reactions, Merlin thought. They would deny it later, he had no doubt. The only thing that bothered Merlin was that the reactions seemed misplaced. Something was going on the surface of their seemingly normal life, but Merlin could feel something brewing that is going to change all that very soon.

* * *

Vivian was getting married in the weekend. The Belgian model, who trained to be an Olympic gymnast, was in New York for a photo shoot with _Vogue_. The young starlet who had a bit part in the '_Harry Potter_' movie was in the recording studio, trying to launch a career in pop. The Contessa de Burgundy was on a safari in South Africa.

It was Monday afternoon and Arthur had just thrown his phone across his vast office in disgust. He could not believe his luck. None of the girls he called was able for a date this evening. They were all very happy he had thought of them but they were all of them sorry they had previous engagements; though in her defence, Vivian did offer to come over for lunch with Arthur at the office. He knew exactly what she had in mind and he had declined.

He was going to be dateless tonight because some cosmic entity had made sure all his go-to girls were occupied. Arthur was certain that he was going to be the first victim of boredom at the Hall tonight. Lance would be bringing Guinevere, Merlin would be busy explaining his art and Arthur was going to be stuck with Morgana, where she would no doubt take immense pleasure in pointing out the fact he was dateless for the evening. It was so difficult trying to live up to social expectations.

In all honesty, it really would not have bothered Arthur. He has been to various social functions without a date, or with Morgana. This should be no different, but he just thought he would be less miserable with a pretty companion. Sighing, he turned away from the glass wall that doubles as a window; all of London spread out in front of him and no date for the evening. He would just have to make do with the liquor then.

* * *

They served supermarket wine. Sodding supermarket wine because the organizers thought it was best that people did not get too hung over so early in the working week. They probably did not know half the crowd in the Hall was hung-over. They had to be, all of them looked as if they were enjoying themselves. Arthur had been left to fend for himself; Lance and Morgana were running late and Merlin had to explain his artwork to the visiting royalty. That left Arthur alone and when Arthur is alone, he is miserable. He chose a relatively empty area of the gallery and stayed there, the untouched wineglass in his hand, so that none of the waiters walking around with an air of self-importance would not be inclined to offer him the poison they were distributing. Arthur knew Merlin had a miniature bottle of rum with him, but he was not sure where Merlin was. He made a mental note to himself to get as many miniatures as possible for social events just like these.

"Arthur? Arthur Pendragon?"

Arthur closed his eyes, hoping it was not a reporter looking for a quote from him. If was asked what he thought of the evening's festivities, he would have gagged. He took his time to turn around and when saw the person who was addressing him...

"Guinevere!" He could barely conceal the happiness, the relief of seeing a familiar face.

Guinevere frowned a little, his enthusiasm was probably a little unexpected, but then she too must have been similarly relieved to see someone she knew, so she smiled. She looked a little nervous but otherwise fine. Arthur realized that she was quite pretty. There was no mistaking the intelligence behind the dark eyes; she looked as if she would not take any nonsense from anyone.

_Where does Lance find them?_

"I was not sure if it was you," Guinevere said, relaxing just a bit. People passing in the gallery made her take an involuntary step towards Arthur. She was a head shorter than him; her boots gave her a few extra inches and Arthur wondered how it would feel to dance a slow number with her.

"Perhaps I should have come dressed in my towel," Arthur muttered. Guinevere's response to this was to blush. "I'm sorry for that day," he quickly added, not wanting her to be uncomfortable.

Guinevere shook her head, indicating it was all forgotten, until he brought it up himself.

"Now that I am fully dressed, do you think we could start over again?" Arthur asked, looking at Guinevere and wondering why her approval of him would matter so much.

"I'd like that."

"Hello, I am Arthur Pendragon."

"Hello, Arthur. I'm Guinevere Leodegrance. Lance has told me about you," she said, picking up a wineglass from a waiter who passed their way.

"Then why are you still with Lance?"

It took a moment for Guinevere to fully understand what Arthur was saying and when she did, clearly she did not think of it as amusing as Arthur had thought it would be. It was fascinating though for Arthur to watch the emotions flickering across the face; bewilderment, comprehension, surprise and finally a smile to confirm that she knew when to take a joke.

"That's because I met him first," she said, and this time it was Arthur's turn to be surprised. For the life of him, he had not been expecting this reply from her.

"That's all right," Arthur replied, knowing that talking is the only thing he could do at the moment. Talking meant no silence where they...he would have to contemplate what was merely words with nothing more than the intention to fill in awkward moments. "Here we are together now."

Guinevere smiled. She too appeared not to be giving too much thought to what she had said. They were grown-ups, mature enough to say things...to flirt harmlessly. "Yes. Although I think it is just going to be you, because I am planning on getting out of here."

"You have not met Merlin yet," Arthur said quickly, horrified at the thought of her leaving. Then, he would alone and be forced to drink the appalling liquor they are passing as wine. "Lance would be here soon and I think they have locked the doors. We are to perish in boredom."

"I'm not bored," Guinevere said quickly. "I just don't know anyone here."

"I'm a Libra and I enjoy outdoor sports and good English food."

"What?" Guinevere looked incredulous.

"Well, now you know me," Arthur replied, smiling. "So, you don't have to leave."

"You do realize you sound like a really bad singles' ad?" She asked him, laughter in her eyes.

"That is because I am single." Arthur could not believe the things coming out of his mouth. He looked into his wineglass, wondering if the bad wine was causing his mouth to say things before his brains could approve it.

Guinevere, bless her, pretended to be interested in her drink and before Arthur could stop her, she took a sip of the wine. She gagged and looked at him accusingly, as if it was his fault the wine was horrifying.

"Tell me about yourself, Guinevere," Arthur said, removing the wineglass from her hand. He placed both their glasses on the tray of a passing waiter and looked at her, who frowned back at him.

"Why?"

"Just trying to have a conversation," Arthur shrugged.

"We could talk about the resolutions of the Copenhagen Summit," Guinevere suggested. "That is constructive conversation."

"Yes, how about that," Arthur replied. But he was not going to give up. Not when it involved someone like Guinevere. "So, where are you from?"

"Does it matter?" Guinevere was determined not to make it easy for him. He wondered if she gave Lance similar treatment.

"Yes."

"Why?"

Arthur wanted to say that he wanted to know which part of the country produced women as beautiful as her; it was not a shabby line, in fact, many women had been impressed with it. But before he could test it out on Guinevere, Morgana appeared.

"Is he boring you with tales of his greatness?" she asked Guinevere, sounding as if she has known Guinevere all her life.

"We have not reached that part yet," Guinevere replied.

"Ah, here's Morgana, a wet blanket impersonating a human," Arthur introduced her. "Morgana, this Guinevere Leodegrance."

"Lance's girlfriend?"

Guinevere's smile; neither a denial nor a confirmation. A flicker of emotion passed through both Pendragons' features, too minute for Guinevere to notice. But since introductions have been made, Morgana was compelled to extend a hand of friendship.

"Nice to meet you, Guinevere," Morgana said, looking at her and genuinely meaning it.

"Likewise," Guinevere replied. "Have you seen Lance?"

As if the question was a cue for his arrival, Lance appeared, looking nervous. "Sorry I am late. My editor forgot that some people had a life outside the office." This was the general greeting for everyone. Turning to Guinevere, he mouthed a 'Hi' and kissed her hello. Morgana too got a kiss, similarly avuncular, Arthur noted.

"Have you already seen Merlin's work?" Lance asked them. Arthur and Morgana replied in affirmative, while Guinevere shook her head.

"He'll never forgive me if I didn't show if off to you," Lance remarked. "Excuse us?" he actually looked as if he was waiting for Arthur and Morgana to give him permission to show Guinevere Merlin's artwork.

"Sure, mate," Arthur said, dismissing them with a wave of his hand. "Try the wine while you're at it. It's a taste sensation you'll never forget."

Guinevere smiled but she held her peace, probably to get back at Lance for being showing up so late. Lance held out his hand for Guinevere and they left Arthur and Morgana standing in the corner of the gallery, watching Lance and Guinevere walk away.

"What is wrong with us Pendragons?" Morgana asked, turning to look at the paintings behind her. While her eyes might be on the artwork, Arthur was sure her mind was not.

"Why do you think there is something wrong with us?" Arthur asked, looking at the same painting without seeing it.

"Look at us," Morgana said, turning to Arthur. "We are alone in a room full of people."

"That is hardly our fault, is it?" Arthur said, turning to regard his stepsister. He knew what she was talking about. He had known since he was eighteen.

Morgana smiled, linking her arm into Arthur's as she led him away from the gallery and towards the main gallery.

"You did not ring all weekend," Arthur said. "Were you wallowing or were dissecting your date with Lance?"

"Wallowing," Morgana replied. "And it was not a date. I was working, remember? Reviewing?" Then, she sighed. "And now, there's Guinevere."

Arthur nodded. "Yes, Guinevere." At that exact moment, his eyes locked on to a mass of dark curls at the other end of the room. Guinevere was being introduced to Merlin. She was laughing. Surely Merlin could not be that funny? Or perhaps she's amused with his ears?

"He's smitten with her, you know," Morgana told Arthur. "Looked absolutely ecstatic when she rang him during dinner."

Arthur did not reply. He was still watching Guinevere, captivated by the way she laughed. He did not see Merlin or Lance in his vision, only Guinevere. And when she put a hand on Lance's shoulder, Arthur knew he was in for a night of alternate wallowing and dissecting.

Morgana was right. There was something fundamentally wrong with the Pendragons.

* * *

The rest of the evening fared slightly better. Merlin's painting was hailed a masterpiece by the patron of the Hall and the Press. The function was still on at the Hall, but the five of them had enough of artistic talk and crap wine. They left the gallery and made Merlin buy them a round of drinks at the pub across the road from the gallery.

They toasted their drinks to Merlin, wishing him more success in his art and hoping that one day, he would regain his ability to dress himself for the public because the grey slack, maroon plaids and yellow undershirt was enough to get him arrested. It would probably get Lance and Arthur arrested too for not intervening, as they lived in the same house and had the moral responsibility to ensure Merlin was presentable in public. Merlin had shrugged, claiming he had artistic license to dress as he pleased.

"That is irresponsible of you, Merlin," Morgana told him. "Think of public safety for once, would you?"

Merlin rolled his eyes, allowing the ribbing to continue. It was his friends' way of making sure he does not get in over his head with all the adulations he had just received. It was their way of keeping him grounded. He would have done the same for Arthur and Lance.

"And Guinevere is not used such colour clashes," Lance remarked, glancing at Guinevere.

So far, Guinevere had kept mostly to herself and Lance; perhaps their group was a little too overwhelming for her. But she did grin and nodded her agreement to Lance's opinion.

They finished their drinks, all of them sorry they could not get smashed because it was too early in the week. They made preparations to leave; Lance was to drop off Guinevere at her flat in Soho.

"It was nice meeting you, Guinevere," Merlin said, as they lingered outside the pub, saying their goodbyes. "Don't be a stranger anymore, all right?"

"Thank you, Merlin," Guinevere answered, turning her face for Merlin to kiss her goodnight. "It was great meeting you again."

Similar sentiments were exchanged between Guinevere and Morgana and then it was Arthur's turn. He said his goodnights and then, without thinking too much about it, kissed her goodbye. As he drew back, he drank in her scent and just how lovely she looked up close. And when Lance handed her the spare helmet, the reality of her being with Lance came crashing back. Lance kissed Morgana good night, taking a rain check on joining Merlin and her for lunch tomorrow, before walking off with Guinevere towards his Harley parked at the Hall's parking lot. The three of them watched Lance and Guinevere go; Merlin indifferent and the two Pendragons just slightly melancholic.

"You know what I think?" Arthur asked, turning back to Merlin and Morgana.

"Plastic is bad for the environment and we should bring our own bags the next time we shop at Tesco?" Merlin said an innocent look on his face.

Arthur closed his eyes, praying for calmness. "Yes, Merlin," Arthur answered, the sarcasm in his voice unmistakable. "That is exactly what I was thinking while I stand in front of this pub with all the alcohol inside and the wonderful idea of getting sozzled for the night. I was thinking of grocery shopping at Tesco."

Morgana sighed, taking hold of Arthur's arm and leading him away from the pub. "It's just Monday evening. You are working tomorrow, Arthur," Morgana reminded him. "Save it for the weekend, will you?"

Arthur reluctantly allowed himself to be led away. The prospect of not knowing when he would meet Guinevere again was surprisingly heavy in his thoughts. He did not know which aspect of it disturbed him more; the fact that he actually misses Guinevere. Or the fact he is missing his best friend's girlfriend. That thought felt like cold water over his head; he shook his head trying not to think of Guinevere or how exquisite she looked up close.

And then it hit him. Of course, he should have known this was bound to happen. This is what happens when he is dateless at social events. Guinevere was an attractive woman and he could not help himself. Yes, that was all that it was. It was a side effects of being a party alone; and well, he and Guinevere did indulge in some light-weight flirting, thus this unexplainable feeling that is bordering on madness.

So, there was nothing wrong with the Pendragons after all. That came as a relief to Arthur, who was beginning to think he was a psycho who was lusting after his best friend's girlfriend. He shook his head, clearing all stale thoughts and his mood perked up a little, even at the thought of not getting drunk. He even bought Merlin a Happy Meal on their way home. All this because he managed to convince himself he was not falling for Lance's girlfriend.

If Morgana had known, she would have said one word.

Denial.

Which Arthur was not. Definitely. He did not even spend the night wallowing or thinking about Guinevere.

The fact that he went to sleep and woke up with the image of Guinevere laughing was a just a play of his subconscious man.

Arthur was not in denial. If Merlin knew his thoughts, he would have said Arthur was a crap psychologist because a spade is a spade and Arthur was falling...

No. He was not. There was nothing wrong with Arthur Pendragon.


	3. Chapter 3

Arthur had received a text early on Tuesday morning from Morgana to try out a Greek restaurant near her office. He had jumped at this offer, considering the alternative had been having lunch at Merlin's choice of a newly-opened organic restaurant. Lunch with Morgana would be as painful as having a meal at an organic restaurant, but at least he would get to eat meat. Merlin had protested to Arthur, using very strong words that belied his innocent looks, but once they picked up Morgana, he was all sweetness and charm. Lance was in Cardiff for the day, photographing the English rugby team before they depart to South Africa for a series of matches. And his absence has allowed Morgana to talk about her sort-of date with him on Friday. She did not talk much about it, because apparently nothing much can happen when two sane people are just having a normal dinner.

Merlin had excused himself to the dessert buffet; he claimed that since he was an adult, he could damn well eat his pudding before the main course. Morgana and Arthur did not stop him, they sighed, but kept their opinions to themselves; although Morgana did complain the unfairness of the fact that Merlin eats all kinds of junk and remains trim the way he is. Merlin claimed he was slim and fit because he was good-looking.

"That doesn't make any sense," Morgana told him, but Merlin had left the table. Arthur put a hand on her arm, shaking his head.

"It doesn't have to make sense, Morgana," Arthur pointed out. "You forget it's Merlin we're dealing with here."

She had smiled. As the waiter placed their orders on the table, she opened the topic of the Harvest Festival at Tintagel. Arthur perked up immediately. Harvest at Tintagel, his maternal ancestors' home, was an event he had never missed in his life. It was a four-day weekend away from the city, away from intrusive technologies masquerading as basic needs and away from the cut-throat corporate world. It was where Arthur could relax, play in the dirt and indulge in all the privileges brought on by his aristocratic birthright. He had always enjoyed the Festival and when he became friends with Lance and Merlin, it eventually became a ritual for them. The final weekend of October at Tintagel was a prelude to the holiday season. In the early days of Uther's marriage to Morgana's mother, Arthur had hated the intrusive newcomers in what he deemed as an exclusive place devoted to the memory of his mother. But when Morgana's mother had passed away before her third wedding anniversary to Uther, Arthur had brought the then twelve year old Morgana to Tintagel on the hopes of cheering her up. She soundly beat him in a horse race, croquet and fencing. He regretted his actions, but Morgana had developed an affinity for Tintagel. Arthur might never admit it, even if he was tortured, but he knew he had more fun in Tintagel with Morgana around. He just did not want her to know that.

"We're leaving Thursday evening, Morgana," he had told her. "You started packing last month, I assume?"

Morgana narrowed her eyes and glared at him, which he ignored as he ate his food.

"I was thinking..."Morgana said and immediately regretted it when Arthur looked at her.

"Don't hurt yourself," Arthur said quietly. He could not help himself. When Morgana made a remark like this, it was an invitation for him; he just had to say something, even when she gestured threateningly with her fork.

"Idiot," she told him off, the only word of the countless in her mind that was polite enough for the public. Arthur grinned, knowing that in this match, he had scored first. "Anyway, as I thinking of Tintagel and I think..."

"Are you sure you're all right?" Arthur interrupted Morgana. "You have done quite a bit of thinking there; and it does not involve clothes or make-up. How are you..." This time, Arthur had the sense to shut up voluntarily because he saw her hand going for her tall glass of mint tea and he did not want to risk his pants. He gestured her to continue and mentally willed himself to stop teasing her.

"You should invite Guinevere," Morgana finally dropped her bomb.

Arthur wondered if Morgana had lost mind. "You have lost your mind," he told her his exact thoughts, shaking his head. Morgana looked up from her _souvlakia_, rolling her eyes. She put her fork down and picked up her mint tea. Not for the first time since she sat down from lunch with Arthur and Merlin did she think she should have ordered something stronger to drink.

"She is a friend," Morgana said, sipping her tea.

"Correction. She is a friend of our friend," Arthur told her, just as Merlin came back to their table, carrying a plate in each hand, loaded with as much dessert for half the patrons in the restaurant.

"Guinevere?"" Merlin hazarded a guess, taking a seat at the table. He picked up his forked and began on a pastry completely covered in frosting and raspberries. Just looking at it made Arthur's teeth hurt. When the two Pendragons nodded, his nonchalant reply was, "She is definitely a friend."

"I can't invite her to Tintagel,' Arthur said. Only his sheer will kept him from throwing his hands up in despair.

"Why not?" Morgana and Merlin asked at the same time. Arthur narrowed his eyes and looked at them both, wondering if they were in this mad plan together. Morgana and Merlin equalled unparalleled insanity and Arthur had been through enough with the two of them to know the telltale signs of an impending disaster.

"First, it's been ages since anyone of us brought a woman to Tintagel," Arthur said, ticking off the reasons with his finger.

"Arthur, it does not count that your History professor visited you at Tintagel," Merlin said, swallowing his pastry with a relish. "She came to research her thesis and stayed at the bed and breakfast three miles from the village. That is hardly what you call bringing a woman home."

Arthur ignored Merlin. He continued on with the most important reason of all. "She is Lance's girlfriend. I can't invite her. Lance would be furious."

"Lance would be furious if you put a pink _'Hello Kitty'_ sticker on his helmet, but you still did it anyway," Merlin said, moving on to his next pastry.

Arthur groaned, putting down his fork. "What is wrong with the both of you?" he asked them, looking from Morgana to Merlin and at Morgana back again. "You really want to spend your weekend in the company of Lance and his new girlfriend?"

"It would be better than to be at Tintagel and wonder what he was up to, should he skip the Festival this year," Merlin answered for Morgana.

"Lance would never miss the Festival," Arthur countered back.

"Then, it would be a great way for us to get to Guinevere and for her to get to know us," Morgana replied, not looking at Arthur. She was pushing the food around her plate.

"Merlin, I can't believe you are actually supporting this idiotic plan of hers," Arthur said, frowning at Merlin. Merlin was the only other person in the world who knew Morgana's secret. Not because she told him. He pretty much guessed it a few years back, but had assured her that his secret was safe with him. "The weekend in Tintagel is supposed to be about having fun and relaxation..."

"Lance likes Guinevere and perhaps if she was there, he would be happier," Morgana said quietly, shrugging nonchalantly. She pushed away her plate and looked at Arthur and Merlin.

"Morgana the martyr," Arthur said, shaking his head. "It doesn't you, if I may so myself."

"There's nothing wrong with wanting to see the one you love happy," Morgana replied with a smile.

Love cannot be that blind, Arthur thought, wondering how happy Morgana would be if she sees Guinevere leaving Lance's room. That thought made him slightly seethe, but dismissed it as empathy towards Morgana's plight.

Merlin finally decided to intervene. "Morgana's a big girl, Arthur. She can handle it," he said. "She has for nine..."

"Eleven," Morgana corrected him.

"Eleven years," Merlin did not stop in his stride. Then, turning to Morgana in amazement. "Eleven years? Has it been that long?"

"It doesn't seem that long to me," she said. Then, with a smile, she put her hand on Arthur's and Merlin's on the table. "Thank you for Thursday night."

Arthur and Merlin immediately started protesting.

"I really needed to paint," Merlin told her, earnestly.

"I would choose my football club anytime over small-servings of French food," Arthur remarked.

"But I have to admit, Arthur, that was pretty quick thinking you pulled that day," Merlin said. "Very subtle and natural."

"You have my plasma TV to thank for that," Arthur replied. "But, alas, our effort has been to no avail. Here's Morgana, still alone."

Morgana smiled. She picked up her glass of mint tea and regarded Merlin and Arthur. "I had a great time on Thursday. And I am not alone."

The guys smiled and touched their own glasses to Morgana's. Arthur may appear to loathe the company of his stepsister, but that did not mean he did not care for her. He cared deeply; he just did not like to show it. He knew Merlin felt the same way too. But it was just so sad, sitting here and toasting for a date that did not have any positive outcome for Morgana. And to salt to injury, Guinevere was in the picture now. If Lance had been anyone but his best friend, he would have risked Morgana's wrath and fixed them up a long time ago. As it was, he was stuck between a best friend and a stepsister. There was just no way he could interfere in their lives.

"So, Arthur, we are inviting Guinevere to Tintagel." It was not a question from Morgana. She stated a fact. Arthur knew better than to argue with Morgana when she had made her mind. And with Merlin on her side, he knew they would make his life miserable if he refused to comply with their suggestion, no matter how idiotic it seemed.

* * *

Morgana insisted on paying for lunch and then left, reminding Merlin that she would be come over the next morning to pick him up for their trip to Bath. Merlin and Arthur watched her cross the road and enter the newspaper office where she worked at before turning to the parking lot.

"You are going to invite Guinevere, aren't you?" Merlin asked, as they walked towards Arthur's Jaguar.

"Yes, Merlin," Arthur said, a little forcefully. "But I have to run it by Lance first."

"Morgana will be fine," Merlin assured him, as they approached the car.

"I know that," Arthur said, unlocking his car.

"And I think you will be fine too," Merlin said, looking at Arthur from the other side of the car. Merlin's expression was impassive, but Arthur knew that was only a front. Merlin can quite perceptive about people.

"What?" Arthur was truly confused.

"Your reluctance in inviting Guinevere," Merlin replied, as he got into the passenger seat. Once inside, he continued, "It seemed to me that your concern involves more than Morgana's well-being."

"What are trying to say, Merlin?" Arthur decided that feigning ignorance would be the best way to halt the direction this conversation was heading.

It seemed to work. Merlin seemed unsure of what to say. Apparently, what he thought he had figured out was now at odds with what actually was going on. "Well, it just appeared to me that you were reluctant to invite Guinevere because...well, because you were attracted to her."

When it was finally spoken, Arthur felt as if he had been accused of a heinous crime. The thought of it had, quite frankly, frightened him and when he heard Merlin, he wondered if it was true. Was he really fighting an attraction to her? It did not seem that way to him. He also knew the more time he spent thinking about it would only make it true.

When it obviously was not.

"That is ridiculous, Merlin," he said, as he gunned his engine. He put the car in gear and drove out of the parking lot, headed for their flat to drop off Merlin. They did not discuss Guinevere anymore; the Harvest Festival being the central topic they talked about.

Twenty-minutes later, as Merlin stood on the pavement outside their flat and watched Arthur driving away; he decided that Guinevere was going to be a sensitive topic for Arthur. While he had accused Merlin's observation of him being attracted to Guinevere as ridiculous, never once did Arthur say anything to deny it.

And Arthur had actually blushed when Merlin told him what he thought.

This weekend had all the ingredients and intrigue to be one of the best weekends or the worst.

Merlin went inside his flat, wondering if he would survive the weekend ahead. But the thought of Arthur's well-stocked cellar at Tintagel cheered him considerably. Should things get out of hand, Merlin could just lock himself up in the cellar and get smashed.

It was good to have an emergency plan.

* * *

"Hello? Who is this?" Lance's voice seemed wary on the other end of the line.

"It's me, Arthur," Arthur said, wondering if Lance had developed temporary blindness. Surely he would have seen his number on display.

"Oh, God. I'm sorry, mate. I didn't catch your number," Lance sounded relieved. "I am going to kill Merlin when I get back."

"There's a waiting list for that. What did he do to you today?" Arthur turned away from his worktable and faced the window in his office. The sun struggled with the rain clouds and it looked like another wet afternoon in London.

"He changed your name in phone entry as '_The love of my life_' and the _Braveheart_ ringtone to '_Eternal Flame_'," Lance said.

"What?"

"Yes. That is just wrong. Those _Braveheart_ ring tones are hard to come by," Lance said, laughter in his voice.

"It quite disturbing that you would feel that way about the ringtone but not the name," Arthur said, shaking his head. Then, wanting to get straight to the point, "Busy, mate?"

"Just finishing up," Lance told him. "Should be leaving for London in an hour or so. What is it, Arthur?"

"Well, Morgana and Merlin…"

"Never a good thing when those two names are mentioned together," Lance pointed out. He was thinking of last year's Oktoberfest, when he and Arthur and Merlin had woken up at the back of a poultry truck a hundred miles from their hotel in Munich. It was a challenge none of them remembers, involving copious amounts of excellent German beer and a farmhand from Bavaria.

"I agree," Arthur replied. "They suggested that we…you should invite Guinevere to Tintagel for the Harvest Festival."

There was a momentary silence on Lance's side of the line. Arthur leaned forward in his chair, waiting for Lance's answer, wondering why he should be concerned if Lance thought it was a bad idea, when he thinks it is a bad idea himself.

"That is not a bad idea," was the response from Lance.

"What?" Arthur had been expecting and preparing for a non-affirmative reply.

"She did say we seemed like a lot of fun," Lance said.

"Who are you and what did you do to my friend?" Arthur asked, surprised that Lance would be so…agreeable to the idea. "Three days ago, you were dead set against introducing her to us and now you don't mind her spending a weekend in our company?"

"Well, now that she's meet all of you and there is mutual liking, I don't see why not," Lance replied. "It will give us a chance for her to get to know us better."

"So, you are fine with inviting her for the weekend?" Arthur had to confirm what he had heard.

"Of course. But I think you should invite her, mate. You are the host," Lance suggested.

"I…" Arthur was at loss as to what to say. More complications for the man who now wished he had eaten a sandwich in his office.

"It will be more meaningful if you did," Lance told him. "Then I can convince her to come."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. I've got to thank Merlin for coming up with this idea," Lance said. "After I kill him, of course."

"It was Morgana's idea too," Arthur was inclined to point out.

This, apparently, went straight over Lance's head. "Yeah, her too. I'll text you Gwen's number."

"Gwen?"

"Guinevere's a little too long. Gwen is short and sweet. Why am I telling you all this?"

"I have no idea and I didn't hear a word you say," Arthur told him.

Lance laughed and rang off. Moments later, Arthur received a text from Lance. Guinevere's number. He looked at the number and thought of the consequences of what he was about to do. It was Merlin and Morgana's idea, agreed upon by Lance, who was generally thought to be the most level-headed of them all. It is not that Arthur does not want Guinevere at Tintagel. They have never socialized with any of Lance's girlfriend before and now they are inviting Guinevere for a weekend.

What if Morgana sees Lance leaving Guinevere's room?

Wouldn't that break her heart?

And what if he has to choose a side?

Arthur stood up from his seat and went to his window, his favourite thinking spot. He was worrying too much…as he was prone to do when it concerns the welfare of someone he cares for. As all those thoughts swirled in his head, a picture of all of them emerged from the chaos. The possibility that everything might just go well. And Morgana probably has thought about what she was suggesting before she spoke it aloud, so she would know what to do and how to behave. She had seen Lance's other girlfriends before and has emerged none the worse, so she might survive this.

There was absolutely nothing to worry about.

* * *

Arthur punched in Guinevere's number for the sake of doing something constructive besides worrying about things that might not happen. He kept his gaze out his window, as he waited for Guinevere to pick up.

"Hi…"

"Guinevere!"

"Guinevere here. Leave a message after the beep and I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

Wonderful, Arthur thought. Now he has to talk by himself.

"Guinevere, this is Arthur. Lance's friend Arthur? We met at the Hall? Well, we met at my flat…What? Okay…um…I know it's a bit too late. But the whole lot of us, Merlin, Morgana, Lance and I and an assortment of luggage will be going down to Tintagel for the Harvest Festival in mother's village…"

There was a loud shrieking beep that signalled Arthur's time limit. Arthur groaned. Now, he has to do it all over again. He pressed the 'Redial' button on his mobile phone and waited.

"Hi. Guinevere here. Leave a message after the beep and I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

"Arthur here again. I'll keep it simple. Tintagel. Thursday evening. Harvest Festival weekend. It would be lovely if you could come with us. A right aristocratic weekend with formal dinners and a ball…"

Another shriek halted his speech midway again and Arthur would have thrown his mobile phone across the room, but he knew his mobile is blameless in this. But if he ever got hold of her mobile phone; suffice to say, he would only be happy to see it in pieces. Sighing, he rang her again.

"Hi…"

"Yes, yes, get on with it," Arthur told the pre-recorded message.

"Who is this?"

That was no electronic message. That was the voice of a very irritated young woman.

"Guinevere?" He could barely conceal his surprise.

"Who is this?" she asked again.

"Arthur Pendragon," he replied.

"Hello, Arthur." The iciness in her tone dissipated and she sounded friendlier now. "What's going on?"

"Your mobile hates me," Arthur told her.

"It hates me too," she said, chuckling. "Never leaves me

"I left two messages…"

"I just returned from a meeting," she explained.

"And I was inviting you to Tintagel for the Harvest Festival this weekend. We, as in Merlin, Morgana and Lance, would like you to join us. We leave on Thursday evening."

There was a hesitant silence from her end of the line, which strangely enough, made Arthur rather anxious. He knew at that precise moment that he would miserable if she declined the invitation.

Because there was a nice of picture in his mind, of him and Guinevere walking around his estate; a nice photogenic picture with a great scenery. It was a picture with just the two of them.

"It will be a lot of fun," Arthur said. "There would be formal dinners, a ball, and a village fair...it may sound a little boring, but it's…"

"Great fun?" Guinevere guessed, laughing.

"Yes," Arthur could not help smiling. "The more the merrier, I say."

"Then, I'd love to," Guinevere replied.

Arthur was stunned for a moment; he seemed to be surprised at every turn in his interaction with people today. "Wonderful," he finally. "It'll be great."

"You don't mind?" she asked, just a hint of apprehension in her voice.

"There's plenty of room at Tintagel. And a female companion for Morgana means less of an irritation for us guys," Arthur said. He was grinning like idiot and he was sure it was apparent from the gleeful tone in his voice.

Guinevere seemed not to have heard him for there was a sound of someone speaking in her background. "Thank you, Arthur," she spoke to him again. "I am sorry, but they need me in the next office…"

"Of course, go ahead," Arthur assured her. "Lance will get back to you with details of the trip. "

"Thank you again, Arthur."

"The pleasure is mine," Arthur replied. "See you soon, Guinevere."

She echoed the sentiment and rang off. Arthur spent the next five minutes looking out the window, his mobile phone in his hand and smiling for no other reason other than Guinevere accepting his invitation. All his previous concern dissipated, leaving him looking forward for the weekend ahead.


	4. Chapter 4

It's been awhile since the last update, real life and stuff keeps getting in the way. I apologize for the delay; and real life should not be...so complicated. It IS a _Merlin_ fanfic, so I had a blast writing and I hope that it will give a fraction of that happiness to anyone who reads it.

Feedbacks make my day.

I do not own _Merlin_. I will never give up on owning the Crowned Prince of Camelot.

* * *

Morgana was about to leave her office when her mobile rang in her handbag. She carried two bags; one was her that matched her outfit for the day and another was for all the necessities she needed to get through her day. Since she could not remember which bag she had put her mobile in, she spent a few minutes looking for it. She finally found the mobile in her necessity bag, along with a tiny koala bear souvenir keychain that she thought Merlin had flicked from her. The call was from a number that Morgana did not recognize.

"Hello?" Morgana's voice was all business-like. She left her office, locking the doors and headed for the lifts. Her department was almost deserted, save for the one or two staff who had stayed back to catch up with their work.

"Morgana?" The caller was a female, with a very distinctive speech pattern that Morgana remembers very well.

"Guinevere?" Morgana guessed, her tone of voice friendlier now that she knows who she was talking with. She stepped over an empty bottle of champagne that had rolled to the doorway to the main office. The bottle, a sample sent in by one of London's wine importer, was a remnant of an engagement party they had at the office that morning. Sometimes, Morgana wonders how anybody manages to do any work when they have party at the drop of a hat at the office.

"Hi, how are you?" Guinevere's voice did not seem too anxious now.

"Great, now that I am headed for home," Morgana said, pausing in front of the lift. She did not get in, because that would ruin her mobile's reception. "Is there anything I can do for you, Guinevere?"

"As a matter of fact there is," Guinevere told her. "But first, thank you for the invitation to Tintagel."

Morgana smiled. "Our pleasure. It would nice to have a sane person to talk to. They guys get even crazier at Tintagel. With all my years with them, I should be a qualified zookeeper."

Guinevere giggled. "Sounds crazy."

"It is," Morgana replied. "And it will be. With or without the involvement of alcohol."

Guinevere laughed. "Well, the thing is, I just called Lance, to ask what I should be packing," Guinevere began, coming to the point of her call. "But..."

"He was about as helpful as a salesperson from a department store on the morning after Christmas?" Morgana guessed, shaking her head, but could not help smiling.

"Something like that," Guinevere concurred. "He also seemed a little distracted. I could hear raised voices in his background. When he realized he was not helping me much, he gave me your number and said you would be able to help."

"No problem," Morgana said, and suddenly, had an idea. "Guinevere, are you free for the evening?"

"I was supposed to have dinner with Lance, but I cancelled because I wanted to start with my packing," Guinevere told and Morgana felt a sharp stab of something, which she had realized a long time ago were emotions associated with the mention of Lance's name.

"Well, if you don't mind, could you postpone your packing to later this evening?" Morgana asked. "Let's meet up the guys' flat and we can talk and arrange our travel plans with them. It will save a lot of unnecessary phone calls and Merlin having to deliver messages that would only mess things up."

Guinevere's reluctance was palpable from the other end of the line. "Won't they mind? I mean, calling on them uninvited..."

"Think of it as an intervention for hearing the raised voices when you were talking to Lance," Morgana was quick to assure her. "They could be arguing, which would be bad for their friendship. Or they could be having a karaoke session, which would be very bad for the general public. So, don't worry about it."

"If you say so," Guinevere did not sound too assured.

"It's all right, Guinevere," Morgana said, as the lift opened. "I'll text Merlin, telling him we're on the way there, give them a head's up. I'll pick up something to eat, so they can be distracted when we are talking."

"All right," Guinevere said. "Thank you, Morgana. I hope I am not being a nuisance to you."

"No. Please, Guinevere. I really appreciate the female company; I have been spending too much time with apes," Morgana said with a smile. "I'll see you in a bit, all right?"

"Sure," Guinevere said and rang off. Morgana stepped into the lift, undecided between Indian take – away and pizza. Curry gave Arthur indigestion, so the decision was made; Indian food. She texted Merlin, telling him she was coming with food and Guinevere and told them to be decent.

She has only met one or two of the women Lance dated and had hated them all. It usually had something to with their hair, their voice, or they way they clung to Lance. But with Guinevere, it was different. Morgana genuinely liked Guinevere. They only talked for a couple of hours yesterday at the Hall, but they already have so many things in common.

The lift opened when it reached the basement parking and Morgana stepped out of it, fishing her car keys out of her bag. She walked towards her BMW and tried to suppress the cynical voice that was listing out the most obvious thing that Morgana and Guinevere shared a liking for. Lance.

Morgana unlocked her car and stowed her things in the backseat. She stood outside the driver's seat and took a deep breath, shaking her head, dispelling all thoughts. She did not want to ruin the weekend, nor did she want to ruin Lance's relationship with Guinevere. She gained what she hoped a good friend through Lance and wanted to keep it that way. These things matter most and her feelings are only secondary in the larger scheme of their lives. And Morgana intends to keep it that way.

* * *

Guinevere stood in the middle of her bedroom, mobile phone in hand, wondering if she could come up some sort serious ailment in the next five minutes. Come to think of it, she would welcome any sort of illness that would carry on until Sunday evening, possibly Monday too, but no more than Tuesday because then she would have a lot of work to catch up with. She also wonders if erratic heartbeat could be counted as a serious ailment; it certainly feels like the on set of a cardiac arrest.

This was especially so when she is in the company of one Arthur Pendragon; who shamelessly flirted with her. Or maybe that is just they way he talks to women. Guinevere frowned, irritated that she could not quite figure the man out.

There it was, the proof that Arthur Pendragon's presence would drive girls into delirium. In the interest of public safety, the man should be locked up.

Three weeks ago, when she first met Lance at the chapel, where the architecture firm she worked for had renovated into a spectacular, award-winning restaurant and bar, she never would have guessed that Lance was part of a package that included the one of the richest bachelor in the country, as well one of its most talented young artist in decades. She did not know anything about this part of his life until she had to go to his flat to get her bag.

She wished now she did bother with her bag, because her heart almost gave out when Merlin Emrys, one of the UK's most talented young artist in decades, opened the door. It is not as if she was a big art buff herself, but Merlin had, just the week before, made it to the front page of the Arts and Culture section of the nation's leading daily when his painting of a vase of lilies sold for two million pounds, the most expensive ever for an artist under thirty. But the moment she introduced herself, Merlin gave her one of the most goofiest grins ever and all but pulled her into the flat, chattering non-stop, pausing only to tell her that Lance had already called ahead to inform that she was coming.

If meeting Merlin had been an Experience with a capital E, she did not have the words to describe her meeting with Arthur Pendragon for the first time. It was bad enough to come face – to – face with a strange man who had just stepped out of the shower, it was worse still when the man was introduced as Arthur Pendragon. There are not many Pendragons out there; Guinevere did not need to be acquainted with the business section of the newspaper to know who the Pendragons are. There was a story for the grandkids, she thought. Meeting a billionaire, quite literally in the flesh. And she still blushes whenever she thinks about the amount of flesh she saw.

She did not dare to speak to Lance about that day; she did not have anything to say. The whole situation was an excellent example for the word awkward; eccentric artist looking at her as if he had never seen a woman before and a half-naked billionaire who was probably equally mortified to see a strange woman in his living room. She, thankfully, had still retained some motor reflexes and grabbed the bag the moment Merlin gave it to her and ran for the exit. Well, not exactly run, but walk away with as much dignity as she could muster alongside the gamut of emotions that included embarrassment, fright and if she truly examined what she felt, perhaps a little excitement. She came straight home and it took a whole bottle of Chardonnay to calm herself down.

The next day, Lance met up with her for lunch and invited her to the unveiling of Merlin's painting at the Royal Albert Hall. He gave her the weekend to think about it. The only thing Guinevere could think about the whole weekend was Arthur's Pendragon's broad chest and shoulders. Seriously, it was not as entertaining as one might think it was. Actually, it was, but when the image persisted every waking minute, intensifying whenever she closed her eyes, it became unbearable. She even cut short her nightly-conversations with Lance because the Lance is Arthur' friend and the whole cycle begins again whenever she thinks about Lance in the flat and inevitably, Arthur in the same flat.

So on Sunday evening, Guinevere came to a decision. She decided that the only way to get the image of a half-naked Arthur Pendragon off her mind is to meet him again in a public setting, where the man definitely has to come dressed. She texted Lance with her affirmative and then went to bed, her sleep tormented with golden and cerulean hues reminiscent of Arthur's hair and blue eyes. It felt a little strange, knowing that if she should be thinking of a guy at all, it should be Lance. She is, after all, with him.

If she had thought seeing Arthur Pendragon in a public setting, fully-clothed, would at erase the images of their first meeting, she could have never been more further than the truth. She should have known better; seeing Arthur again only reinforced the images and the moment she saw him across the gallery, the first thing that came to her mind was Arthur Pendragon standing in middle of the gallery in his towel. She tried not to encourage him, but she just could not falling into banter with him. That was what it was with Arthur that day; banter not flirting. If she wanted to flirt, she would happily do it with Lance...

Three dates on, she was not sure on how to label the relationship between them. It was too casual to start calling herself as his girlfriend. And yet, it was serious enough to actually be more than a friendship. Lance was a great guy; he was the kind of guy girls dream all their lives meeting, but when they do, he would actually be someone else's boyfriend or husband. Lance seemed genuinely interested in her, but Guinevere could not help feeling that Lance was holding something back; more like holding himself back. Maybe it was a commitment issue; Lance was, after all, born with a Y-chromosome; making him susceptible in avoiding it as long as he could.

For now, though, their _'whatever-ship'_ was going on rather well. And he has a great bunch of friends; who are surprisingly normal and down-to-earth, despite their reputation. Maybe not quite normal, but their gesture of friendship was true, something that still surprises Guinevere. When she met them collectively at the Hall, she had a feeling that they do not normally let strangers into their circle. Their acceptance of her was mutual; Guinevere had a feeling if even one of them had an itch of uneasiness with her, she would not be standing in her bedroom now packing her things to spend a long weekend with them.

Comforted by the fact that they were all friends and knowing that Lance would be at the flat, Guinevere picked up her coat and headed for the door. Her heart was beating at a rate that she was sure was most unnatural and her throat was dry. She experienced none of this when she went out on dates with Lance and attributed this to seeing Merlin and Arthur again.

And the Arthur inevitable brought back memories of a broad chest, shoulders and towels that should be outlawed for not being...adequate enough.

It was a miracle that she could drive with all the thoughts swirling in her head. If she crashed and died, it would have been the fault of Arthur and his chiselled pectorals.

* * *

Arthur was pacing the living room, his cuticles on the verge of destruction when the doorbell rang. He opened the door and found Morgana, beaming and holding up a take-away bag from her favourite Indian restaurant.

"Wonderful," Arthur said, leaving the door wide, as he went back into the living room, letting Morgana find her own way into the flat. "Morgana and curry; the indigestion package. Now my evening is complete."

"It's all right, Guinevere," Morgana could be heard talking in the hallway that connected the living room to the front door. "Arthur is actually a grumpy, toothless bear. No harm will befall you."

Arthur froze in his steps. Guinevere was here? He turned around and sure enough, a slightly nervous looking Guinevere was following Morgana into the living room.

"Guinevere," Arthur said, all smiles now. "What a pleasant surprise."

"Hello, Arthur," Guinevere said, managing a small wave as she stepped into the living room.

Morgana put her things on a side table and regarded Arthur. "I texted Merlin earlier telling him Guinevere and I are coming."

"His mobile had been sacrificed to the gods of arts this afternoon," Arthur told her. "Apparently, Merlin thought a jar of cobalt blue is a good place to put his mobile in." He walked past her and helped Guinevere out of her coat and hung the garment in the little built-in closet in the hallway. "Can I get you a drink, Guinevere?"

"No, thank you, Arthur. Perhaps later?" she said. "Where's Lance?"

Of course, Arthur thought, ignoring the momentary searing feeling he felt in the general region of his heart. Why else would she be here?

"Kitchen," Arthur said, jerking his thumb towards the door at the other end of the room. "Engaged in a battle of wills with Merlin."

"Battle of wills?" Morgana asked, frowning in the direction of the kitchen. "There's a lost cause. Lance doesn't stand a chance. He would cave if Merlin as much as pouts."

"Not this time," Arthur said. "Too much is at stake."

"Well, whatever it is, can you please try to be a good host to Guinevere for a bit?" Morgana said, turning to Arthur. "I need to use the ladies' room."

"Only little boys' room around here," was Arthur's casual response to that, having forgotten Guinevere was standing in the same room with him.

Morgana, already headed for the spare bathroom next to Merlin's studio, looked at Arthur, an eyebrow raised, ready with her response to his remark of '_little boys' room_'. Arthur caught the look, shook his head, his eyes imploring Morgana not to embarrass him in front of Guinevere. Morgana nodded, letting it go, this time. Arthur sighed in relief, turning back to Guinevere.

"What was that about?" Guinevere asked, her expression a delightful mixture of a smile and a frown.

"That," Arthur said, as he led Guinevere towards the kitchen. "Is a good reason why brothers hate sisters. Don't let it bother you, Guinevere. Morgana is just another word for annoying."

He held the kitchen door open for her and she entered it before him. Like the rest of the flat, the kitchen was quiet too, which was a surprise seeing that Lance and Merlin were in it.

"Guinevere's here," Arthur announced, but Merlin and Lance did not move from the kitchen table where they were seated at, looking at each other in a fierce concentration that seemed rather worrying for Guinevere to see.

"Hello, Guinevere," Merlin called out, with a wave.

"Hey, Gwen," Lance greeted her, his eyes still on Merlin. "Hang on a bit, will you? This will be over soon."

"What's going on?" Guinevere asked, all traces of her smile gone, to be replaced with a frown.

Arthur stood next to Guinevere, regarding his friends, his arms crossed at his chest. "This is a battle of wills," he told her.

"Should I ask why?" Guinevere said, glancing at Arthur before turning her gaze towards the two guys at the kitchen table. "Or escape while there is still a chance?"

Arthur turned to Guinevere, looking down at her, and rather enjoying the experience. "You can run, Guinevere. But you will never outrun us," he said with a smile.

"Guess I'll just have take my chances then," Guinevere replied, falling quite comfortably into the banter routine with Arthur. "So, why are Lance and Merlin looking at each other as if they have just had a lovers' quarrel?"

Arthur grinned while Merlin and Lance scoffed, but they never took their eyes off each other. "It's a no-blinking match," Arthur said. "We would have wrestled to settle the matter we are contesting, but we drew straws and I got the short one. Merlin drew the longest, thus he chooses the battle."

"And he chose staring into Lance's eyes?" Guinevere said shaking her head and holding up her hands, as if she was giving up. "This is very disturbing."

"I know," Arthur said, sounding quite serious. "But we can't let Merlin win, or we'll be doomed."

"Why are we doomed?" Morgana entered the kitchen and that moment, Merlin gave a shout.

"Hah! Game over, du Lac! You lose!" Merlin claimed, jumping from his seat and gesturing wildly at Lance, who was banging his head slowly on the kitchen table.

"What?" Arthur could not believe what he was seeing and hearing. He went towards Lance, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder, as Merlin did a ridiculous jig.

The two girls were confused. "What's going on?" Morgana asked, her firm voice demanding an explanation for Lance's apparent distress and Merlin's celebratory dance that she prayed would never be seen in public.

"He blinked," Merlin said, as if it explained everything.

"Wonderful," Morgana said, her voice dry. Turning to Arthur and Lance, whom she hopes would give an answer suitable for adult, she arched an eyebrow.

"Our ride to Tintagel..." Arthur began and Morgana immediately guessed what had transpired.

"You didn't," Morgana said, through gritted teeth. Guinevere was watching the events unfold in front of her from the relative safety of the little nook next to the industrial-sized refrigerator. She looked as if she wished she was somewhere else; preferably on a different continent.

Morgana approached Arthur, with intentions of unleashing some sort of physical violence on her stepbrother. "We...Did...How..." Morgana could not articulate anything coherent; her rage all-consuming. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, calming herself down before she spoke again. "Arthur, maybe I am wrong. I hope, for your sake, that I am wrong. I have the distinct impression that we are to travel to Tintagel in Merlin's van." Morgana's voice had all the charm and warmth of the Arctic tundra.

"Lance lost the no-blinking contest," Arthur pointed out, trying to minimize his fault.

"How could you wager something so serious on a no-blinking competition?" Morgana cried, throwing her hands up in despair. "Travelling to Tintagel in _THAT_ van? Have you lost your mind?"

"I did not know you felt so strongly against my van." Merlin had stopped dancing and was now looking at Morgana, his eyes wide and shiny, as if he was on the verge of tears. Arthur closed his eyes and shook his head, knowing full well what was going to happen next. This battle was lost even before it began.

"Merlin, I..." Morgana began, as Guinevere came to stand next to Morgana, her heart probably wrenching at the sight of Merlin's expression.

"Well, if you feel that way, Morgana, then perhaps we could...we could..." Merlin spoke but was unable to continue because apparently he was choked up with emotions. By then, Lance had risen from his seat and was going towards Merlin with every intentions of comforting him.

"Mate, look, it's all right," Lance said to Merlin, putting a hand around his shoulder, as Morgana and Guinevere came close to them. "We'll take the van to Tintagel."

Arthur suppressed a groan. And the urge to smack Lance and Merlin across the head. The basket of fruit on the kitchen table was tempting him to act on that violent impulse triggered by his annoyance, but Arthur was a gentleman. He would not assault his friends with fruits in front of women, no matter how much he thinks they deserve it. Morgana and Guinevere could be forgiven; they were after all, females and Merlin has a tendency to bring out the protective side of the fairer sex with his mere presence. However, Lance, he should have known better. Merlin had pulled the puppy-dog look on them countless times and Lance is none the wiser. Arthur was glad at least he was immune to Merlin's sympathy-seeking ruse.

Merlin nodded, making an effort to appear brave. He bit down his lower lips, in an apparent effort to stop it from trembling. "That's okay," Merlin said, his voice thick with emotions. "I understand. We should..."

"No." Morgana was quick to protest. "Your van will be fine." Turning to Arthur, she tried to sound as if she was excited about the prospects of travelling in the vehicle she swore once that she would never touch with a ten-foot pole. "Isn't it, Arthur?"

Arthur sighed. He had lost his say earlier this evening, so nothing he says can change anything now. "I cannot comment on anything because apparently I am bound by the technicalities involved with drawing the short straw," he said glumly.

Merlin finally smiled, all signs of misery gone. "I am going to start my packing," he said, leaving the kitchen, a triumphant grin on his face, knowing that he has Morgana, Lance and now even Guinevere twisted nicely around his little finger.

"You are the worst bunch of pushovers ever," Arthur told them, as he went towards the liquor cabinet. He might as well start drinking now to lessen the pain of travelling in Merlin's van on Thursday.

Morgana and Lance did not bother to comment, they knew Arthur was telling the truth.

"It can't be that bad," Guinevere spoke, looking rather concerned. As a reply to this, Morgana took Guinevere's hand and led her towards the kitchen window that opened out into the car park two floors below. Arthur poured Lance and himself a drink and watched the two girls.

Morgana pointed out something to Guinevere, whose reaction was a reflexive hand to the mouth and a horrified look. Morgana nodded and led Guinevere back to the kitchen table, where Lance pulled out a chair for her and Arthur handed her a drink.

"Wow," was all Guinevere could say. Lance took a seat next to her, his hand swung casually over the back of her chair.

Morgana put a hand on Guinevere's on top of the table, acknowledging her shock by nodding, indicating she understood Guinevere's horror.

"We have to see the bloody thing every day," Arthur pointed out, downing his drink at one go. "Lance and I might as well be the first candidates for intensive psychological counselling brought on by exposure to neon and metallic ugliness."

"I would recommend group therapy for the whole lot of you, but I do not think there is a therapist brave enough to take you on," Guinevere said, looking very serious.

"Merlin alone would be enough to scare them away," Arthur said, pulling up a chair at the table. "Welcome to our world, Guinevere."

Guinevere smiled, shaking her head. If she thought the whole situation was surreal, she did not say. Turning to Lance, she said, "Does this happen everyday? Or only on special occasions?"

"Every other day," Lance replied. Arthur and Morgana nodded solemnly, agreeing. "Gets worse during Christmas..."

Guinevere shook her head in disbelief, as Morgana assured her it the condition was not contagious. They then discussed travel plans, which, unfortunately, had been decided with Lance's loss in the no-blinking contest. Merlin came into the kitchen, with a stealth that surprised the rest of them; he wanted to see if they were planning something behind their back. His worries were unfounded as they took turns telling Guinevere about the Harvest Festival. They finished the Indian take-away dinner, with Arthur settling for a set of frozen dinner because he claimed his system could not take any more heartburn. They then went to the living room, where the girls discussed clothes and the guys watched a B-grade monster movie that Lance chose for the evening.

With Morgana and Guinevere the corner of the living room, Merlin and Lance sitting between him in their designated chairs, Arthur felt an immense satisfaction; contentment brought on by knowledge that the most important things in his life were in the same room as he was. When he heard Guinevere's soft giggles, the feeling intensified. Of course, it was only natural that Arthur should feel happy with a new addition to their little clique. They all had a new friend that they mutually liked. That was a good reason for him feeling that way. It was a reason that made sense to him.

Later that evening, as the girls said goodbye and Lance kissed Guinevere good night; very brief, very platonic kiss, the satisfaction level dropped drastically for that short moment Guinevere and Lance were embraced. Arthur knew this because his heartbeat was leaden. The moment, less than ten seconds, seemed to drag on forever. There was no explanation for this.

And when Guinevere waved goodbye to him, telling them she would see them on Thursday evening, it felt as if his heart soared again.

There was no explanation for this either.


	5. Chapter 5

I do not own _Merlin_. I reiterate that I will never give up on owning the Crowned Prince of Camelot.

* * *

It was almost midnight on Wednesday and in the darkness of the night, two figures were seen running across the parking lot. They were clad in black and one of them was carrying toolbox. As they passed beneath a lamp post, there was no mistaking Arthur and Lance, although if anyone had seen them, they would have been inclined to ask about the skip caps and the power tools Lance was carrying. Arthur made his way ahead of Lance, and just a few feet from their target, behind a pillar. Lance came to stand beside Arthur and they both looked at their target, the neon monstrosity Merlin insists on calling a vehicle, in disgust; intending to put an end to it that very evening.

"Ready?" Lance asked, as he handed Arthur a power drill. Arthur nodded. He took a deep breath and then, ran soundlessly towards the van. He ducked into the space between the back of the van and the wall that ran the perimeter of the parking lot. Moments later, Lance joined him.

They tested their battery-operated drills, it worked fine. Lance and Arthur looked at each other. Lance nodded and Arthur began to commence the first part of _Operation Neon-Snuff_. He stood up and walked towards the front of the van. When he reached the front, Arthur wished he had brought his sunglasses because even in the darkness the neon paintjob hurt his eyes.

Another deep breath and Arthur raised the power drill in his hand. He touched the front grill of the van. And almost died when a klaxon rang, shattering the still of the night. Lance, who had been crouching behind the van, fell to the floor, and quickly scrambled to his feet, and ran towards Arthur, who stood stunned at the front of the van. He pulled Arthur away and they quickly hid behind a pillar, as several windows lighted up and neighbours poked their head out of the window; most of them looking sleepy, irritated and some even downright murderous. The two failed criminals watched from behind the pillar as their kitchen was illuminated and Merlin opened the window. He frowned and then brought out his hand and pressed a button on his car alarm remote. The klaxon died down and the neighbours went back inside, some showing their irritation by slamming their windows shut. There was no doubt this issue would be raised in the next residents' tea and meeting.

Merlin poked his head out of the window, looking around the area, frowning. Then, he went inside and closed the window and the kitchen was dark again.

Arthur and Lance sat on the ground, leaning against the pillar, breathing as if they had just run a marathon. Their power drills lay by their sides, unused.

"An alarm? For that piece of scrap metal junk?" Lance was incredulous.

Arthur shook his head in disgust, as he took out his mobile phone from the back pocket. He punched in his message to Morgana.

**FAILED. VAN WOKE THE ENTIRE CITY. **

Morgana's reply came moments later.

**Guinevere says she knows a guy who knows a guy. We'll take care of this. Both of u just deny everything. **

"Are they going to kill him?" Lance whispered aloud as he read the text Arthur showed him.

"Maybe it's the only way," Arthur said sagely. "It's not just about us, Lance. This involves every road user in the country. Have you thought about what the people of Tintagel would think when they see their marquis arriving in a van that looks like it had belonged to a Rolling Stone groupie?"

Lance looked worried. He knows both Pendragons hated the van and hoped that it would not come to a violent end. Perhaps they should talk with Merlin again...

That would not work, because when Lance and Arthur mentioned an alternative vehicle, Merlin invoked their oaths; the ones Arthur and Lance had made last year at Tintagel; where they had been more than slightly drunk and more than slightly high due to the consumption of wild mushrooms. Arthur and Lance had sworn that they would never dispute any resolution decided through the drawing of straws; Arthur swore his oath on his prized collection of Bacardi, while Lance swore his on his Beatles original LPs. So far, that had worked fine for them, until Merlin brought up the transportation issue...and here they are now.

"Think about this way, mate," Arthur said, as they got up from behind the pillar. He dusted the back of his jeans and picked up the power drill. "Whatever happens to Merlin tomorrow, he asked for it."

"Come on, Arthur," Lance said, remembering Merlin's joy when they '_agreed'_ on travelling to Tintagel in the van. "It's just a van. There's no need for..."

Arthur put his hands on Lance's shoulder and turned him around to face the van behind him, squatting twenty paces away; its shiny grill a parody of a grin, mocking their defeat.

Lance's change of heart was immediate. "We'll just deny everything and run away to Brazil."

"That's more like it," Arthur said and led the way back to their flat. They returned to their rooms, disappointed that the plan they hatched through a series of texts between themselves and Morgana that took up their entire lunch hour had not come to fruition. It would have been fun to use the power drills. Now, it is entirely in the hands of Morgana. Arthur only hoped that Merlin would not pout at her or their entire plan would go up in smokes again.

* * *

The next morning, Merlin did not emerge from his room when Arthur and Lance left for work. The other two found that they had nothing left to say to each other in the aftermath of their failure so, they went their separate ways to work. The most they could do was to glare at the van, which seemingly mocked them back with its idiotic fender grin.

Both Arthur and Lance were working until lunch that day, so in the afternoon, when Arthur drove into the parking lot of their flat, he saw Lance there, who had obviously just returned from work. Lance, leaning against his motorcycle, arms crossed at his chest and a frown on his face that was reminiscent of a sulking child, was watching Merlin load the van with his luggage. Merlin was cheerful enough for all three of them, whistling out of tune as he carried out his task. Arthur parked at his spot next to Lance's Harley and got out of his Jaguar, noting that, in the absence of proper seats in the back, Merlin had lined the floors with newspapers and flattened cardboard boxes. He shook his head, shaking his head in disgust, nose wrinkled as if he had been handed a platter of decomposing toads. He stood next to Lance and they gave a collective sigh of defeat.

"This can't be happening, mate," Lance said, as they watched Merlin, who went about his task oblivious to Lance and Arthur. "I do not want to die in a van. Especially that one."

Arthur wished he could say something but it was hard to give strength to someone when one's own morale had been sapped. He could only watch.

When Merlin had arranged all his things to his satisfaction, he straightened up, turning to his friends. A rather silly grin was plastered to his face; an expression that did not endear much to his irritated friends.

"I am thinking of a word," Merlin told them, looking very pleased with himself.

"So am I," Arthur said, feigning excitement. "Mine rhymes with _pluck, cluck_ and _duck_. Yours?" Arthur's voice was dangerously calm.

Words alone have never been known to deter Merlin. He continued as if Arthur had not spoken. "_Scupper_. Verb. Thwart or wreck. As in the sentence, _the would-be vandals were scuppered by the alarm_."

"_Arthur is going to scupper Merlin_," Arthur suggested a sentence of his own, uncrossing his arms and taking a step towards Merlin. The grin disappeared entirely from Merlin's face, to be replaced with genuine apprehension. Lance turned away, hiding show his smile.

"Or how about this; _Lance du Lac did not scupper Arthur Pendragon from scuppering Merlin Emrys_," Lance had to contribute his own example.

"Nice one, mate," Arthur replied, holding out his fist for a fist-bump with Lance. "Here, how about this; _nobody bothered to scupper the charming, good – looking blokes who scuppered the freaky vegetarian_." A shark-like smile spread across Arthur's features as he said this.

"That's good," Lance said, nodding his agreement. Another fist-bump between the two of them followed.

"Scupper off!" Merlin said, glaring at them both and turning towards the flat, muttering words that rhymed suspiciously with _pluck, cluck_ and _duck_. He had only taken a few steps when a huge, black Rover with tinted glass came to a slow halt, blocking Merlin's way to the flat. Arthur and Lance were immediately alert; Lance pushed Merlin back as he and Arthur took their positions in front of their friend. Arthur wondered if Morgana had been serious about the whole _Guinevere-knows-a-guy-who-knows-a guy _thing_._

The window of the driver seat rolled down to reveal a grinning Morgana and Guinevere. Arthur and Lance sighed in relief, unaware they had been holding their breath.

"What's going on?" Merlin asked, nudging between Lance and Arthur as he stepped forward. There was a frown on his face and worse still, his lower lips were trembling. Morgana and Guinevere needed an iron will if they are going to overcome this. Arthur steered Lance away from Merlin; letting the girls deal with him, because Lance was already feeling sorry for Merlin and Arthur wanted to make sure that the girls' decision is not swayed by a sympathetic third party who is very much pro-Merlin.

* * *

"I have got nothing against your lovely van, Merlin," Guinevere explained, her voice and expression were earnest enough, but strangely, she did not look in the general direction of the van.

Merlin and Guinevere were standing a little further from the rest of them, at the parking lot. Merlin was scuffing the gravel with the toe of his sneakers, not wanting to look at Guinevere or the Rover. The rest of them were watching the proceeding with both amusement and apprehension. It was up to Guinevere now to ensure that Merlin did spend the next four days sulking.

"I feel I have to contribute something to the weekend. I can't just go for free..." Guinevere explained.

"But you're a guest," Merlin protested. The rest of them froze, knowing that Merlin has got a point there.

Guinevere regarded Merlin with a slightly crestfallen expression. "Is that all, Merlin? I thought we were friends. And friends let friends help each other."

"I..." Merlin began, but Guinevere interrupted him.

"This is the only way I can contribute to the trip and the weekend, Merlin," she said, her voice pleading. "As a friend, I want to drive all of you there. Will you not, as a friend, allow me to drive you there?"

It was a tense half a minute as Merlin pondered over Guinevere's request. The rest of them literally held their breaths. Then, as slowly as it would take a flower to bloom, Merlin's frown slowly dissipated and a smile finally crept into the corners of his mouth. "Of course," he said, as he took Guinevere's hand into his. "Anything for you, Guinevere."

Guinevere laughed and drew Merlin into a hug. "Thank you," she told him. "I really appreciate this, Merlin."

As a response to this, Merlin bent down and whispered something to Guinevere. Then, he turned away from her and started hauling his things from his van and into the Rover. Guinevere left him to his task and approached the rest of them, who managed to give her a stealthy round of applause as they huddled around her.

"Well played, Gwen," Lance said, kissing her cheek.

"Our egos owe you a lot, Guinevere," Morgana remarked, squeezing her hand.

"It's not as easy as it looked," Guinevere admitted, allowing herself to take a deep breath after the harrowing moments with Merlin.

"What did he say to you?" Arthur asked, looking at Guinevere. "He whispered something..."

Guinevere giggled when she remembered what Merlin had told her. "He said that ALL of you are biggest bunch of pushovers ever. Even Arthur. And he loves you all for not killing him. He also said that his van would not have made it out of the parking lot, let alone to Tintagel, but since he had a lot of fun with your tortured expressions, he did not say so. All it took was for one of you to say no and this would have blown over sooner."

Their departure was delayed for twenty minutes as the guys hunted down Merlin and each gave him a vigorous knuckle-rub on the top of his head. It was just after three when they started their five – hour journey. Guinevere was not allowed to drive, on the account that there were three guys who were more than capable of doing so. They opted against drawing straws because Arthur maintains that Lance and Merlin deliberately plot against him. Therefore, they settled it in a much more matured manner; Arthur won the rock-paper-scissors match-up and the right to drive. Morgana and Guinevere's eye roll were unnervingly identical.

Merlin got in the back seat with the girl between them; there was no vote to decide the matter, Merlin just pouted and got his way. Lance got into the passenger's seat in front. When Arthur strapped himself in and adjusted the rear view mirror, he had a most pleasant surprise. The view in the mirror was absolutely divine. He did not bother to adjust it much more, preferring to keep it the way it was.

By the time they were out of London, Arthur was sure he would remember every single smile and expression he saw on Guinevere's face for a very, very long time.

* * *

Two hours into the journey, Arthur and Lance who had been reviewing United's match against Milan, suddenly realized that the three in the backseat were exceptionally quiet, except for the occasional giggle or two. Arthur gestured for Lance to check behind. Lance turned in his seat to do so.

"I knew it," Lance said, shaking his head, as the three in the back froze in their covert act of imbibing from the miniatures graciously provided by Morgana.

"Miniatures again, Merlin?" Arthur asked, his eyes on the road.

A hiccup confirmed the answer, followed by a series of not-so-stealthy giggles. If Lance and Arthur thought their discovery of the three of them drinking secretly in the back would shame them, they were wrong. The three in the back were a majority and they made sure their voices were heard, especially Merlin.

"Did you know, Guinevere..." he began and Arthur was immediately wary. He was rather sure that whatever follows this statement would be most embarrassing for him.

Guinevere was instantly alert. She waited for Merlin to speak. Glad that he had an attentive audience, Merlin continued. "Did you know Guinevere that Arthur is twenty-third in line for the British throne?"

If Guinevere was impressed she did not show, except for raising an eyebrow and catching Arthur's eyes on the rear view mirror. She shook her head, indicating she did not know.

"For God's sake, Merlin," Morgana said, shaking her head. "If you're going to tell Guinevere something, make sure you got facts right."

"That's right, Gwen," Lance would not miss the opportunity to join in the discussion on Arthur's life. "Arthur is not twenty-third in line for the throne..."

"As of last year, he got bumped up to the twenty-second spot. The Earl of Something from Somewhere died without leaving male heir," Morgana said, leaning forward to squeeze his shoulder. "Good for you, Arthur...I mean, Your Highness."

Arthur groaned. It had been bad enough Lance, Merlin and Morgana relentlessly teasing him about his connection to royalty, now it looked as if Guinevere was going to join the fray. However, to her part, Guinevere managed an acknowledging nod, but kept her comments to herself.

Her silence on the matter unsettled Arthur. He wanted to know what she was thinking, what she felt. He wanted to know what was going on in her head. And he wanted to know what she was whispering to Lance, as she leaned forward and spoke to Lance in the small space between his seat and the door.

That had been a wake up call. Here he was obsessing over the exact shade of brown that her eyes were when she is quite obviously with Lance. In fact, she was only here because Lance had known her first. For all Arthur knew, she could well be his girlfr...

The word just would not form in his head. Arthur was never the jealous type, especially not when it concerns his friends. He wished them both happiness...but he just could not think of Guinevere as Lance's...

His brain froze again.

This should not be happening.

Driving down the M5 was not good way to learn that he was falling for his best friend's girlfri...

He shook his head. He just could not do it.

He does not have to do anything to acknowledge it. Some things are better left as it is. Perhaps in time, he could think of Guinevere as Lance's...

An hour before they reached Tintagel, he was sure his brain was haemorrhaging with his attempt to think of Guinevere as Lance's...someone. That would be a welcome affliction; at least he could get some rest from the torment he never knew a single word could inflict.


	6. Chapter 6

Lots of back story and people talking...please bear with me. I just needed to sort out their lives before I could continue. But there is a point to all this; there is a story somewhere in here. For now, pray forgive if I do not come to my points in a more succinct manner.

Feedbacks make my day.

I do not own _Merlin_. I reiterate that I will never give up on owning the Crowned Prince of Camelot.

* * *

Arthur Pendragon lives in a castle. Guinevere had been expecting an elegant, slightly large-ish manor house set a mile or two from its front gate. Arthur's castle; apparently it did not have a name because Arthur's mother's family were called Du Bois and it just would not do for the land owner's castle to bear a French name while sitting smack in the middle of an English village. Changing landscape over the centuries has pushed the village as the focal part Tintagel and the castle now sits on a private property a few miles outside the village; one the miles being the length of the driveway from the front gate to the main courtyard of the castle. It had been dark when they reached Tintagel, but from what little Guinevere could see the castle, as well as the village, was magnificent. The architect in her was intrigued and she could not help being excited with the fact that she was going to spend the next few days in a castle. She promised herself a walk around the village to see the medieval English architecture prevalent there.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Merlin whispered, as he leaned towards her. They had been quiet in the last hour because they ran out fun and some undoubtedly fictional trivia about Arthur's royal connections. Lance and Morgana had dozed off, but Guinevere could not even close her eyes, there was just so much to see. The journey itself had been great; the English countryside bathed in the evening sunlight; gold accenting the autumn colours of the season. Merlin had been sketching the whole time, while Arthur drove on steadily.

"Stunning," Guinevere replied. She could not help feeling that the word was inadequate to fully encompass the magnificence of the building. She caught Arthur's eyes in the rear view and smiled at him. "Suits you, Arthur."

Arthur smiled, his eyes bright, as he brought the car to a slow halt at the front steps that led to the massive front door of the castle. He killed the engine and all of them piled out of the car, stretching their legs after their long drive.

On top of the stairs, the massive wooden doors swung open and a man came out. He was followed a long line of servants in black uniform. All of them were looking at Guinevere.

Guinevere groaned, a hand to her heart. "This is slightly embarrassing," she said to Lance, who kept his expression bland, but it was obvious from his body language; jaws grim and hands in his pocket, that he was more than slightly uncomfortable with the whole thing.

"Well, they are required to tend to the needs of the guest, so I guess they wanted to know how Guinevere looked like," Arthur explained as he led the way towards the front door. "This is the first time a woman other than Morgana has been here. They were probably curious about how a real woman looked like." The thunk of Morgana's Coach handbag connecting with the back of Arthur's head caused Guinevere to wince but the rest of them, servants included, did not even flinch, as it was probably a usual occurrence.

Arthur rubbed the back of his head and went up the stone stairs, muttering about how no one can handle the truth.

At the top of the stairs, the man who had opened the door stood, flanked by two women. "Phillip, the butler. And Marie and Eliza, my housekeepers," Arthur made the introductions quickly. "I would have died multiple deaths if I had to deal with this castle myself, so these three here are my saviours. Everyone, this is Lance's gir...guest, Guinevere Leodegrance."

The three servants allowed themselves a small smile, before resuming their stoic expressions once again. "Welcome, Miss Guinevere," Phillip spoke. "Miss Morgana." He bowed as he regarded Morgana. "Young masters," he added as Merlin and Lance came to stand by them. "Your rooms are ready..."

Guinevere had been afraid of this part. She did not know if she were to have a room of her own, or share with Lance. That was just the beginning; she did not know if she wanted to share a room with Lance; it was just too early, very early in their relationship. And the home of his best friend is hardly a place for the intimacy that would entail with sharing sleeping quarters.

"Is Guinevere in the guest room next to mine?" Merlin asked and Guinevere could have hugged him for his effort. She noticed a slight awkwardness amongst them when the word '_rooms'_ were mentioned; she felt like sticking her head into a hole somewhere herself. Thank God for Merlin and his not-so subtle ways; if anyone else had asked about it, it would have been absolutely horrendous.

"No, Master Merlin," Phillip replied. "Miss Leodegrance is in the room next to Miss Morgana, on the second floor."

"Oh, thank God," Merlin said, looking relieved. "Last year, I thought I saw an apparition of one of Arthur's ancestors in a bonnet and a frilly dress."

"Lady Huntington was far from amused when you wandered into her room and then ran off screaming," Arthur said, shaking his head. "I had to take her hideous niece out for three dates as recompense to that."

"That would be the one that smelled like cabbages, right?" Lance asked, recalling the flaxen-haired girl who would have been pretty if she just knew basic hygiene.

"The very one," Arthur confirmed. "Point is, my castle is not haunted by my ancestors, and Guinevere, you must remember to lock your doors at all times. Merlin does not believe in the concept of knocking..."

"And he looses his sense of direction when he's had a few," Lance said, miming taking a drink.

The rest of them, including the servants, nodded their agreement. Merlin tried not to look too offended.

That sorted out, the servants filed back into the castle. Some unloaded the luggage from the Rover. Guinevere was refrained from running to help by Lance who held her hand and assured her it was all right.

"I will never get used to this," Guinevere admitted, as she walked into the castle with Lance.

"I have been coming since I was a child and I am still not used to it," Lance said, smiling at her. "Don't worry about it, Guinevere. You are not offending anyone."

But Lance's words were lost on Guinevere the moment she stepped into the castle. She tried not to be too awestruck, but she was in a castle and she could not help herself. She did not know what she had been expecting from Arthur's home, but it certainly exceeded her expectations. Luxurious, classical and most of all, warm and welcoming, the front hall itself defied her image of a dark, dank building with bats nesting in the corners of the ceiling. There were a million details to see, to admire...her jaw hung open; she felt ridiculous, but it was all right. A place like this deserves her admiration. A place like this puts many other homes featured in magazines to shame.

Turning towards the front door, she saw Arthur watching her with an amused smile on his face. She shrugged, as if giving up on pretending that she was not impressed with what she saw. "Welcome to Tintagel, Guinevere," he said, the smile never leaving his face.

As Lance escorted her up to her room, promising a leisurely tour of the whole place soon, Guinevere could not help thinking about Arthur and the supremely confident smile he wore a moment ago. It was not as if Arthur was anything but confident, but here in Tintagel, she noticed a minute change in him. Arthur was in his element; being what he was born to be. This was Arthur's domain and he was probably amused with her reaction to his home.

He must be thinking she was a dork.

The stray thought stunned her.

Oh God.

Not five minutes in his home and she has already acted like child in a toy shop.

No wonder he was amused; he was probably having a good laugh about it now.

Well, Guinevere was not one to fret over what has already happened; if she tried to make amends for that, she would only make things worse. She also knew that she was definitely going to spend the next few days unable to help herself from being impressed with all that she will see. But, she could, and would, try not to embarrass herself by walking around with her eyes wide open and jaws hung open. That would be most undignified. She will, however, allow herself the luxury of doing that whenever Arthur was not around.

It was not until she in her room that she realized she was more concerned about making an impression on Arthur than contemplating the direction of her '_whatever_-_ship'_ with Lance.

Perhaps the best thing to do was to let things take their course. They have the whole weekend to contemplate and she really did not see why they...she should rush into a conclusion. Things are going great so far.

All she has to do was try not to get to overwhelmed with Arthur, his castle and his devastating smile.

* * *

Morgana made a quick stop at her room in the second floor; everything was as she left it when she down for a visit three weeks ago, and went to look for Arthur. At the landing of the second floor, she was stopped by Phillip, who was carrying a cloth sack. She knew why he was there; Arthur had probably sent to confiscate their mobile phones, laptops, PDA and whatever electronic device that could remind them of their working place. Morgana had already packed all her stuff into a bag and handed it to Phillip who, after collecting form Merlin and Lance, would deliver it to the dungeon. The dungeon was an actual dungeon that Arthur had transformed into their own personal electronics room. It was manned by the head gardener's son, who came in every time Arthur was at the castle. The boy's job was to monitor their mobiles and PDAs for calls and inform them via written notes. He gets five hundred pounds for his troubles and the rest of them get a worry-free weekend. It was a win-win situation.

Morgana enquired about Arthur's whereabouts and Phillip informed her that he was in his study, sorting out his program for the weekend. Morgana thanked Phillip and made her way to Arthur's study in the first floor. When she reached it, she knocked and entered, hoping he would be alone. She had an important matter to discuss with him.

"Yes, Morgana?" Arthur asked, looking up from the sheaf of paper he was studying. He was sitting at the heavy oak table that his great-grandfather had brought from India on one of his trading expeditions there. Anyone looking at him now would have been unnerved by the apparently indifferent manner he displayed; both bare feet casually on the table, his heavy coat on the floor in front of the desk. It was almost as if he did not know or care for the family history embedded in each item in the room. But Morgana knew better. This was Arthur dealing with the opulence he had been born into. At one stage, it had been a burden for him; to live up to the expectations of his father and of the family name. Somewhere along the line, he had come to realize that he could not be anyone but himself and slowly allowed himself to accept that and embrace his family's legacy. This was all his and he did not have to uptight about it; he learnt he could still be his own person without letting the objects and history around him to influence his actions and thoughts.

"I saw you," Morgana said, going straight to the point. She was horrified to see his Burberry jacket on the floor; she picked it up but decided to get back to him on the importance of treating his clothes well another time. Right now, there was something else more important she needed to talk to him about.

"And I am seeing you," Arthur said, putting the paper aside and pushing his chair away from the table.

"You were looking at her," Morgana said and watched as Arthur finally understood what she was talking about. He got up from his seat and busied himself with rearranging the papers he had been reading. "Arthur..."

Morgana's tone made Arthur look up from his papers. "I don't know what you're talking about," Arthur he said, a defiant look on his face.

"You were looking at Guinevere through the rear-view mirror..." Morgana began, but Arthur interrupted her.

"I was driving, Morgana," Arthur argued, looking incredulous. "I think looking into the rear – view is constituted as a standard safety measure."

"It was blatant flirting!" Morgana countered. "One – sided. And sad. And I noticed this at the Hall too. I thought it I was just imagining things but today...well, today was an eye-opener."

Arthur put down the paper he was holding and looked at Morgana. "First of all, Morgana," he said. "No one uses the word blatant anymore. At least no one under thirty does. And it may be one – sided; but it is not sad. It's called attraction."

"She is with your best friend," Morgana said, hands on her hips. "Why don't you try to be attracted to someone else?"

"I know that," Arthur said, not raising his voice because they were, in all honesty, not arguing. Morgana was concerned and sometimes she has a rather abrasive way of showing it. "But we can't help these things, Morgana. You know that."

Morgana scoffed, shaking her head in disbelief. "That is your justification? You can't help yourself? That you are a male?"

"I am not going to seduce her or anything," Arthur said. "I am a man, Morgana. You put a beautiful woman in front of me, I am bound to react."

"You have never reacted this way to any of his previous girlfriends," Morgana pointed out, eyes narrowed. "Why is Guinevere so...interesting to you?"

Arthur caught the look on Morgana's face; the determined look that meant she would pursue relentlessly for an answer. Arthur had no choice. He had to give her answer, and because it is Morgana, only an honest one would do, because she always knew when he lied to her. "She is smart. And she was not very impressed when she first met me. And I was wearing a towel at that time..."

Morgana rolled her eye, halting Arthur's slightly narcissistic reply. "She was probably too traumatized to be impressed."

Arthur did not want to remark on that. He just shook his head. Apparently, he was not done yet. "She is beautiful and smart..."

"You've already mentioned that," Morgana said, taking a seat on the armchair near the fireplace. She needed to sit now that she knows the extent of Arthur's '_attraction'_ towards Guinevere.

"She is not impressed with who I am at all," Arthur told her again. "She is impressed with my castle, but castles have that kind of effect on people, so I really can't say if ..."

"Shut up, Arthur," Morgana sighed, rubbing her temples. She saw a lot during their drive down to Tintagel. She saw Arthur looking at Guinevere through the rear-view mirror; it seemed to Morgana that Arthur had his eyes on Guinevere more than he had on the road. And Guinevere, is just human after all. A female human, who knew she was being watched. She might have looked at him once or twice, but Morgana was not sure the extent of it. She cannot just walk up to Guinevere and ask how it felt to have her stepbrother eyeing her while he drove. And the thing about Guinevere not being impressed, Morgana was not sure Arthur got that right. Guinevere was impressed, most impressed. She just had a little more self – control than many girls out there.

Suddenly, Merlin burst into the room, causing Morgana to almost have a heart attack. "Merlin! For God's sake, won't you..."

"I saw you," Merlin said, walking right up to Arthur. "You were looking at Guinevere." Then, he saw Morgana. "Morgana, did you tell him about his blatant flirting?"

"Oh God," Arthur groaned, slumping back to his seat again. "I can't believe this is happening."

"Indeed," Morgana remarked, glaring at Arthur. This was going to be a long evening.

* * *

Guinevere was trying to find her way into to the dining room when she got lost in the first floor. She was told by Phillip, who came for her mobile phone and laptop, that dinner would be served in half and hour. She declined his offer to escort her to the dining room; she still needed to freshen up. Standing at the end of a long hallway on the first floor, Guinevere wished she had made one last phone call to Lance, to come and get her. However, her mobile phone had been taken to the dungeon at the orders of the lord of the castle and here she was, lost.

She took a deep breath and walked down the hallway, trying every door as she did. The first two did not budge, but the third one was open. She opened the door and entered the room, hoping to find a phone so that she could call the local police to help her find her way to the dining room in Arthur's castle.

The room was larger than her bedroom and was obviously a sitting room. The wall opposite the door was a huge bay window with window seats, while the other two walls were lined with rows and rows of shelves filled with framed photographs and knick-knacks and souvenir from all around the world. A large table in the middle of the room held a flower arrangement that looked like a trophy itself. Intrigued, Guinevere stepped inside the room, heading for one of the shelves. She picked up a random photograph; it was of Arthur, Lance and Merlin, sitting in a row and blowing didgeridoos. They looked slightly unkempt, with the three of them sporting beards. Merlin was wearing a floppy hat with corks hanging on the inside of the brim. She smiled and was about to put it back when a soft, shuffling sound behind her cause her to turn.

It was a man, probably in his sixties, with slightly long grey hair that was almost white. He had a kindly look about him. "Hello, Guinevere," he greeted her, as he came into the room. Guinevere was surprised when he spoke her name. He came to stand before her and took her hand into his, engulfing hers in his large ones. His blue eyes twinkled. Guinevere felt an instant liking for this man. "I am Gaius, the local GP, Merlin's godfather and old friend of Arthur's family."

"Hello, Gaius," Guinevere said. "It's nice to meet you."

"I am sorry I did not come out to greet your arrival," Gaius apologized. "One of the maids in the kitchen had minor accident involving boiled potatoes. A minor burn on her wrist but plenty of hysterics. We will not be having potatoes with our steaks tonight."

"Thanks for the heads-up." Guinevere smiled. "I got lost on the way to the dining room and wandered in here by mistake."

"I shall be delighted to take you down for dinner," Gaius said. Glancing around the room, he continued, "This is a good place to get lost. It is their glorified photo album."

"It seems they have been to every single place in the planet," Guinevere said, encompassing all that she has seen with a wave of her hand.

"They have not been to Wales together," Gaius remarked. "They have been there separately on many occasions, but every time they plan a trip there together, something will happen, causing them to postpone or cancel. Merlin say they are forever jinxed from visiting Cymru. Arthur claims it is possibly karma due because Merlin is a vegetarian." He caught Guinevere's frown and shrugged, his way of explaining the perplexing logic of the trio. "The travel bug bit them when Lance and Arthur graduated. Their first round-the-world adventure was courtesy of Uther Pendragon when Merlin graduated from the university," Gaius said, as Guinevere looked at the other photographs on the shelf. She recognized Mexico, the western states of the USA, central European countries and India. Merlin wore a silly hat in each photograph. "Arthur and Lance had taken a sabbatical and they packed a backpack each. They travelled in business class to every destination, but the moment they stepped out of the airport, all they had was fifty pounds to share amongst them for food and boarding for how ever long they were staying in the place. To supplement this, they often worked part – time, in bars, farms, restaurants...anywhere that paid them minimal wage. They did manners of work, some legal and some too illicit to be anything but legal. It was the only way they claimed they could see the real world. I am just glad they weren't arrested or anything..."

Guinevere giggled, putting the photograph of the three of them riding a horse-drawn carriage in what looked like Romania back to its place on the shelf. She inspected further along the shelf and found a photograph framed in an ornate silver frame. It was of a woman of exceptional dark beauty and a young boy who could not have been more than two or three years old. The boy inherited his mother's exquisite features; Lance, for there was no mistaking the toddler's dark eyes, had been one of those babies that were naturally good – looking since birth. Not cute, but genuinely good – looking; the kind of good looks that one knows would bloom into a spectacular beauty.

"She's beautiful," Guinevere mused, looking at the woman in the photograph. Lance's mother should have been, at the very least, an actress.

"Sonia Arantxa Iniesta was a student from Spain when she visited the Cornwall coast and fell in love with a French wildlife photographer," Gaius explained, picking up the photograph and looking at it with fondness. "Their fling lasted three weeks and he had to leave, to return to Marseille to his wife and two sons. Sonia knew this but there was just too much passion in her suppress what she felt was only natural. She could not go back to Spain, not after finding out she was with a child. The decision made, she settled in Tintagel, after accepting a post as nurse in the local GP's surgery..."

"She worked for you?" Guinevere enquired. She could not help feeling just a little sorry for the dark-eyed woman in the photo; falling madly in love with a married man and leaving the life she knew for the uncertainty of being a single mother in a strange place. It would have taken a woman of singular courage and will to do what she had done.

"She did, though I kept telling her she was overqualified to be a nurse in a village," Gaius continued. "But she said she had enough, Lance's father knew about him and sent them money whenever he could. She could not bear the thought of leaving Tintagel, she wanted her son to grow amidst the beauty of this place..."

"She must have been a great mother," Guinevere mused. The photograph, taken at the beach, showed Sonia laughing as she held her son and pointed to the camera. The close way she held her baby, her carefree smile indicated a mother who had allowed her child to find his way in the world by himself, without letting him go too far from her.

"She was," Gaius said. His words may be simple, but there was truth to it. "She was dying when this photo was taken." Gaius's words stunned Guinevere. She took the photograph from his hand looked at it. There was absolutely nothing wrong with the beautiful woman in it. She was laughing, she was holding her son; she looked fine. "Breast cancer that went undetected for far too long. She died three months after this photograph. She never allowed any photos after this one, claiming her son had to see her when she was the happiest. Lance was three and when his father came to take him back with him, he refused to let go of Hunith, Sonia's best friend. Hunith, bless her, had decided even before Sonia's death that she will honour her friend's wishes and raise the child at Tintagel. Lance's father was reluctant, but he knew it was the best for the child. He left, never to return again. All Lance knew of him was from the Christmas cards he sent and the trust fund he set up for Lance. His father was quite successful and prosperous; Lance was given the best any child could ask for and Hunith raised Lance as if he was her own son..." As he spoke, Gaius scanned the shelves for something. When he found what he was looking for, he picked it up. He handed Guinevere another photograph, this framed in what looked like a child's handiwork; a card box cut into a frame, painted and stuck with small seashells and a sorry-looking feather.

"That's Merlin," Guinevere exclaimed when she recognized the dark-haired, pale boy in the picture; the goofy grin was unmistakable. Merlin was wearing long robes and a pointed wizard's cap that was twice as tall as he was. He was probably six or seven at the time the picture was taken. He stood next to a brown-haired woman, who had the kindest eyes Guinevere had ever seen. Hunith, she guessed. Merlin has her eyes. There were two other boys in the picture too; one dark-haired and another blond. It was easy to guess who they were. Lance and Arthur were in what looked like a knight's outfit.

"And that's Hunith," Gaius said. "The photo was taken at Arthur's seventh birthday. Hunith had read them _Lord of the Rings_ the previous winter and Arthur had insisted on a party themed around it. Merlin was Gandalf, Lance was supposed to be from Gondor and Arthur from...from..."

"Rohan," Guinevere concluded for him, recognizing the emblem on his tunic. She had done Tolkien in reverse; movies first and then the books.

"Yes," Gaius said. "They were mad about Tolkien, those three. As was Hunith. She's my brother's daughter and loved all three boys."

"Where is she now?"

"Hunith and Balinor, Merlin's father, died in a car accident when Merlin was seventeen," Gaius said, sighing.

Guinevere was stunned when she heard this. In just fifteen minutes in the room, she has learnt more about the past of these people than she had in all of the two weeks she has known Lance and, give or take a few days, Merlin. Their past was not like others; normalcy seems a foreign concept with them. She thought Lance would, at least, have a normal past. But all they had was tragedy.

"Are you all right, my dear?" Gaius asked, noticing Guinevere's silence. Guinevere looked at the older man and smiled wanly, nodding to indicate she was fine. "Their past is very tragic, but I think they turned out well, don't you?"

"Because they had each other and you?" Guinevere said, knowing she spoke the truth. The friendship that existed between the three guys and Morgana was a bond that surpassed its given name; what they had between them was even more stronger and deeper than just friendship...it was kinship. Each was their own person, but within them, they carried a piece of each other. Gaius was probably the only adult included in their little circle. They did not speak much of Gaius on their way here, but the older man's intimate knowledge of their past revealed that he was an ally to them.

"More of each other and less of me," Gaius remarked, smiling. "Did you know that Arthur adopted Merlin after Hunith's death?" Guinevere's surprised look confirmed to Gaius that she had no inkling of this. "Merlin was three weeks short of his eighteenth birthday when Hunith and her husband died. As per the laws, Merlin was still a minor, thus had to be sent to a foster home. When talking did not work, Arthur took the decision and adopted Merlin." Gaius's was telling a rather serious story, but he could not keep the smile from his face. "Arthur was twenty – one and apparently, a trust fund is considered stable source of income."

Guinevere was not sure if she wanted to laugh or cry. It was just one of those moments that does not require any rational thinking because it makes complete sense and no sense at all the same time.

"Arthur would do anything for his friends," Gaius said, as he led Guinevere towards another section of the shelves. More photographs, more souvenirs, including a tall clear jar containing what looked like a dead mouse foetus in embalming liquid. Guinevere looked at the jar and then at Gaius, who shook his head, indicating that she was better of not knowing. She turned her attention to some of the framed portraits in the rooms, mostly of Arthur's ancestors; blond-hair, blue eyes and that unintentional look of arrogance were very prominent among them. She glanced through most of them, but stopped short when she across one of Arthur taken in an opulent drawing room. He was wearing a tailored suit and a long, trailing velvet cloak. Two gold-link necklaces were fastened to his robe, each with a large pendant hanging just above his cummerbund. He was standing near the fireplace, hands by his side, smiling for the sake of smiling. His posture may be relaxed, but the look in his eyes indicated otherwise. Below portrait was an engraved sign in Old English script that read:

**_A. A. P. T PENDRAGON_**

**_19__TH__ MARQUIS OF TINTAGEL _**

**_22__ND__ SEPTEMBER 2008_**

"Arthur Archibald Percy Tristan Pendragon," Gaius offered an explanation without prompt. "His family dug up almost all the names of his Du Bois and Pendragon ancestors before Ygraine, his mother, put an end to it. Arthur became the marquis after his uncle died at the ripe old age of ninety eight." He pointed to a smaller portrait next to Arthur's that showed a young woman in a similar room as Arthur was in his portrait. Arthur's mother was one of the angelic beauties that one could not help but to stare, just to make sure they were seeing right. She was a vision of beauty, purity and kindness. Guinevere has never seen anyone like her before. And she knows, she never would. Arthur's only parent was his father Uther. Ygraine must have passed away.

"Three months after giving birth to Arthur." Gaius remarked, as if he could read what was going on in Guinevere's mind. "She had always been a fragile child and her pregnancy took its toll on her. She died here, which is Uther would not step into this place unless he could not help it. She was born here, as was Arthur, thus his attachment to this place. I still remember once, when he was seven, he told me that the things in the castle are very fortunate to have been seen and touched by his mother. He knows she was too sick by the time he was born, so he believes she never saw much of him..."

Guinevere's vision blurred, as she felt a sharp pricking in her eyes. She blinked her tears away; it would not do to cry, not in front of Gaius. If Gaius saw Guinevere's reaction, he never showed it. He took her hand and led her out of the room. "Uther took Arthur back to London, to raise his son himself. Or so he said. When Tristan, Ygraine's brother, visited them one day, he was appalled to see his nephew raised by nannies and servants. He brought Arthur back to Tintagel when he was a year old; countering Uther's objections by claiming he was only doing what Ygraine would have done. Uther had no say in the matter and became a father during the holidays. Arthur was raised by his uncle and was a regular at my surgery; the boy just could not go through the week without a scratch to show for it. It was during one of these visits that he met Lance and Merlin, when they were five and two years old. They had been in the waiting room; Merlin and Lance were another one of my regulars. Arthur showed them a frog he had in his pocket and shared the toffee he had stashed, in the same pocket with the frog, I might add. They bonded over frog-catching and spend a week in the surgery after suffering from food poisoning brought on by frog-exposed toffee..."

This time, Guinevere was laughing so hard that she had to stop walking and steady herself. Being absurd was not a recent affliction with them, she concluded. Those three had been at it since they were young.

"See, Guinevere, you still managed to laugh after hearing all the tragic stories," Gaius said, as they began to walk again. "That is how they have lived and are living their lives. They have accepted the past, its tragedies, and heartbreak and held on to each other for strength. Their past has given them much sadness, but it also gave them each other. They have used that and...Here we are today..."

As he said this, Gaius stopped in front of a door. He opened it, to reveal the three guys and Morgana, looking very worried. A collective sigh went up as the rest of them were relieved to see Guinevere safe. Arthur passed the walkie-talkie he had been talking into to his butler as they took their seats at the vast dining table that could easily seat another dozen diners.

"Thank you," she mouthed to Gaius, who was seated beside her at the table. He gratitude was not just for finding her, but for Gaius trusting her enough to tell her about them.

Gaius nodded, understanding. He leaned over and whispered, "Welcome to the family, Guinevere." He reached for her hand on the table and squeezed it. "You make a beautiful addition to it."

All Guinevere could do was blush and duck her head. Looking around her, Guinevere realized that her perspective of them had changed profoundly. These people were truly remarkable individuals, to have emerged from such tragic pasts into who they are today. Such was the power of their bond. She could not help feeling honoured to be allowed a glimpse into their lives; she knew she still had a long way to go before she would be part of that bond amongst them. But for now, this privilege was...fantastic.

* * *

_Another few more chapters to go, in my estimation, but, my muses have the final say in the matter. Holidays are coming up, so I will try to post / update sooner. For all of you who have 'alerted' this author, 'favourited' the story and general kept your patience, thank you ever so much. I love you all._


	7. Chapter 7

***This part was written after a particularly harrowing month. My house was robbed, thus all my writing came to a jarring halt for weeks. However, as if the universe was signalling to me, the first programme I saw when I switched on the TV after all police had left was _Merlin_ and I did not even know it was supposed to be on at that time. A television show is hardly the consolation my family needed after loosing our jewellery and cash, but it was reassuring nonetheless to know that there are things out there can put a tiny smile on my face; a very tiny smile, but a smile nonetheless. I do not know why I wrote this down. Perhaps I needed to share. So, please, just bear with me. My family have lost half a lifetime's worth of hardwork and sacrifice.

***And I think this story should be set before the World Cup. With England crashing out to Germany (THAT was a goal!), the present day situation would not render Arthur Pendragon with much joy and cheer (I know he is an England supporter while Lance would be rooting for Spain. Merlin would just go along for the ride and spend his World Cup irritating his friends with a _vuvuzela_...at least, my version of Merlin would).

I do not own _Merlin_. I will never give up on owning the Crowned Prince of Camelot.

Feedbacks make my day.

* * *

"Behold the creature Emrys, as it emerges from its hole in search of sustenance." Arthur's Attenborough-esque narration welcomed a squinty – eyed Merlin into the sunny and cheerful breakfast room. The rest of them were there, marvelling to themselves and with each other at how early they have gotten up on their day off.

"Bleh," was Merlin's reply. There was a small bump on his forehead. He was not as adept in negotiating the layout of the castle as he was at his flat. He had bumped into the fireplace in his room. The aftermath of his journey from his room on the first floor to the breakfast room in the ground floor included a shattered vase that had survived a hundred years and two World Wars and a maid who has to refold the newly-washed linen again after Merlin had collided into her while she was carrying the laundry in. She was new and no one had warned her about Merlin's inability to see in the morning.

"The creature Emrys is very articulate in the mornings," Arthur continued, as Merlin took his seat at the round breakfast table.

"Stop picking on him," Morgana said, as she piled some toasts on his plate. Guinevere poured a cup of coffee and placed it near him. Arthur and Lance exchanged looks, shaking their heads, their emotions an equal part of disgust and marvel at how Merlin managed to snag the sympathy of the females in his company so early in the morning.

Merlin thus settled, Arthur turned his attention to the rest of them. "All right, plans," he said, rubbing his hands together.

"Behold the Pendragon penchant for organizing and bossing people around," Merlin muttered, having regained his speech after a caffeine hit.

It was the presence of the girls at the table that deterred Arthur from launching a roll towards Merlin's head. But he still had other means of getting his displeasure known. "Lance?" he glanced at his friend. Lance, seated next to Merlin, obliged immediately with a smack across the back of Merlin's head.

"Ouch!" Merlin howled. It could not have been that painful, but it managed to extract a whole lot of unnecessary sympathy from Morgana and Guinevere.

"Thanks, mate," Arthur said to Lance, who gave a two-fingered salute in response.

"As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted," Arthur said, keeping a wary eye on Merlin. "Today's the opening of the fair. I also promised Gaius we'd drop in at his surgery..."

"But Gaius doesn't have medication for _Arthuritis Pendragonitis_," Merlin said, perkier now that his system has got its full hit of java. He was also more alert now; leaning slightly to his right, away from Lance's reach.

Arthur was about to request yet another intervention from Lance, when surprisingly, Guinevere spoke up. "And what are the symptoms of _Arthuritis Pendragonitis_, Merlin?" she asked, as she buttered her toast. She sounded serious, but it was plain to see she was holding back her laughter. Morgana smiled, glad that Guinevere did not feel awkward amongst them anymore. If she could tease the master of the castle, then Guinevere must really be comfortable with them.

Merlin was delighted with Guinevere's inquiry; he never backs down from any chance to tease Arthur. "The physical symptoms manifest as acute ugliness that may be wrongly interpreted as good looks by the patient of the disease," he said as he edged his seat closer to Morgana to protect himself from possible violence. "And then there would be the overwhelming need to know what's going on with everyone at all the time. There is also the compulsive need to organize everything. But this should not be mistaken for _Morganitis_..."

Merlin should have known better. Morgana looked up from her cereal, an eyebrow raised. Merlin grinned at her sheepishly, but it was too late for apologies.

"Lance?" she said.

Lance's reaction was immediate. He stood up and easily laid another smack on Merlin's head. This time, sympathy was not so forthcoming for Merlin. Guinevere was laughing so hard that the glass of orange juice in her hand was on the verge of slipping. Lance reached over, took the glass from her hand and placed it on the table, next to her plate.

"Right," Arthur said, once the '_festivities'_ were over. "We'll go to Gaius's surgery and then to the village fair. We'll meet up here for lunch. Then in the evening, we have a wedding to attend. Mr. Cavendish's daughter is getting married. We're dressing up, so please, Morgana, do you bit for the public and see to it that Merlin is at least colour – coordinated."

"Artistic license..."Merlin began, but Morgana put a hand over his, stopping him from offering his explanation.

"Hush, darling," she said, as if speaking to a child. "We know what is best for you, us and the whole village. We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. I am all right with both, but I don't think Guinevere should be exposed to violence, especially after we promised her a peaceful weekend at the country."

Morgana was smiling and speaking in gentle voice, but Merlin knew better than to cross with her when it came to clothes. He held his peace.

Thus settled, breakfast resumed once more. Morgana put down her cup of tea, remembering something. "I can't go to the surgery with you. I've got the Ladies' Club tea at ten, so I will just meet you for lunch," she told them, wiping her mouth with a napkin. "I'll drive to the vicar's and meet the rest of you later."

They continued with breakfast as Morgana gave a brief history of Tintagel Ladies' Club to Guinevere. Just then, Phillip entered the breakfast room discreetly. He excused himself and passed a folded note to Lance. Lance thanked Philip and took the note. He opened it with a frown. The rest of them waited for Lance to read it; Merlin paused with his toast half-way to his mouth as the suspense mounted.

"Wonderful," Lance said, crumpling the note in disgust. He finished the last of his coffee before divulging the content of the apparently distressing note. "There's been a massive computer crash at Layout Department..."

"Online porn," the rest of them chorused together, shaking their head.

"Or a virus," Lance suggested, defending his colleagues who probably did download smut on the computer at work. "They lost the main computer and the back – up files. They called up and said they needed the Cardiff pictures stat or tomorrow's weekend feature would be about the quilting ladies from Surrey who are aiming to break the world record by making the world's largest quilt."

"Charming," Arthur remarked, wondering who would actually read stuff like that. Lance had a real national emergency in his hand; the weekend feature should be about the English rugby team not a yawn – fest.

"Exactly," Lance replied. "So they want me to e-mail them copies of the photos to them." Shaking his head, he continued, "Guess I'm stuck with work for a bit." Turning to Guinevere, he said, "I am sorry, Gwen."

"That's all right," Guinevere said, smiling. "Merlin and Arthur can show me around."

"And who better to show Guinevere around than the marquis himself," Morgana pointed out, solemnly.

"Off to the dungeons with you then, Lance du Lac," Arthur exclaimed, gesturing with his glass of orange juice.

The rest of them looked at Arthur, eyebrows raised in disdain. Guinevere was the only one smiling.

"How long have you wanted to say that?" Merlin asked, shaking his head.

"A very long time," Arthur admitted. "I have a dungeon, so, it's only natural that I'd want to say something like that."

"I can't help but to feel sorry for you, mate," Lance said, patting Arthur's shoulder.

Arthur narrowed his eyes, as he reached for the bacon dish. The plan was revised; Merlin and Arthur would take Guinevere to visit Gaius and they will meet up with Lance at the fair. Breakfast resumed as Phillip entered the room again, this time with a message to Merlin.

"The produce lady is here, Master Merlin," Phillip said quietly.

Merlin was surprised at the announcement. "My buyer's a man," he muttered almost to himself, as he got up from his seat and excused himself from the table. There was five second of silence and inactivity in the breakfast room after Merlin and the butler had left before all of them rushed towards the bay window that faced the inner courtyard of the castle, were Merlin was headed. From their vantage point, they saw a white van parked near the back entrance of the castle. The van bore the sign '_Sebastian & Co. Wholesalers and Distributors of Organic Produce_'. As Merlin appeared from the east entrance of the castle, the driver's door of the van opened and a petite, dark-haired woman stepped out.

"She's cute," Morgana remarked, as the girl, who could no older than Merlin, took a few steps away from the van to greet him. Merlin, who quickly adjusted his steps that had faltered shortly when he saw her, smiled broadly as he approached her.

"They would look so adorable together." Morgana agreed to Guinevere's observance most enthusiastically.

Merlin shook hands with the girl, the rest of them disappointed they could not hear what he saying to her.

"Um…I know Merlin's a vegetarian but does he buy his organic produce in bulks?" Guinevere asked, frowning. "They're not that hard to come by, are they?"

"The only things Merlin buys in bulks are cheese sticks and sunflower seeds," Lance said.

"Which confirms our suspicions that Merlin is closely related to or possibly a whole new species of rabbit," Arthur added.

Morgana groaned. Turning away from the window, she gave Guinevere the actual reason for Merlin meeting with the wholesaler. "Merlin and Lance own an organic farm in Tintagel. The beets and carrots grown here are sold all over the country."

Guinevere nodded, keeping her surprise to a minimal level at the revelation.

Lance, however, was compelled to continue, in an effort to downplay Morgana's explanation. "It was just a bit of unused land near Merlin's mother's house. Arthur suggested an organic farm and then..." He shrugged, before he continued. "Since my work takes up most of my time, it's Merlin who handles all the farm-related affairs…" Another shrug and he remained quiet, as if he had ran out of things to say. Guinevere nodded; knowing that when it comes to talking about himself, Lance speaks in shrugs and tortured expressions.

They watched the proceedings in the courtyard for another five minutes or so, before realizing that Merlin and the girl were probably not discussing produce anymore. Not by the casual way the produce girl was leaning against the front of her van and Merlin with one hand on the van's windshield, his back turned pointedly towards the rest of them. They were both laughing and the rest of them in the castle knew that beets and carrots are not really that funny to begin with.

"Maybe Merlin will invite her to the ball," Morgana said, looking hopeful.

"They just met," Arthur pointed out, keeping his cynicism in check.

"Well, she does drive a van. And Merlin drives a …never mind. Above all, she's cute. So who knows…" Guinevere mused, smiling.

The rest of them grinned at Guinevere's observation. A minute later, Merlin's meeting with the girl ended. He helped her into the van and closed the door after her; taking a step back when she gunned the engine. He waved until the van disappeared from view and turned around so quickly that the rest of them had no time to react. He narrowed his eyes at them; the most he could do seeing that Morgana and Guinevere were around and rude finger gestures were out of the question. He marched back inside the castle.

By the time he reached the breakfast room, however, all four of them had miraculously finished breakfast and were headed out of the room.

"A quick tour of the castle, Gwen?" Lance asked. "Arthur and Merlin won't leave until Arthur has spoken to Phillip and we have some time before you leave for Gaius's surgery."

"That would be lovely. Thank you," she said, finishing her coffee. She dabbed her mouth with her napkin and excused herself. Lance, already taken his leave from the table, held the door open for her. He took her hand and led her out of the room, calling out, "See you guys in a bit," over his shoulder. The door closed behind them and a leaden silence fell in the breakfast. Looking away from the door, Merlin turned his glance to Arthur and Morgana.

Both Pendragons wore a similar look, a slight smile and the unmistakable look of unintentional hurt in their eyes. Merlin closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

They could not help themselves.

They want nothing but the best for Lance, but despite their good intentions, they had two weaknesses.

They were only humans, after all.

And like all humans, their hearts seems to interfere with their logical thinking.

"Snap out of it, you two!" Merlin's tone was deliberately cross.

Arthur and Morgana recovered immediately and looked lost momentarily, before locking identical glares at Merlin. They rolled their eyes at him and headed for the door. Merlin put his hand on the door knob, halting them.

"Look, I know it is not easy, but may I just remind you that what happened moments ago is the consequence of your choices," Merlin pointed out. "Morgana for wanting to see Lance happy and you, Arthur, simply because you feel that since it's your castle, you are entitled to be attracted to your best friend's girl…guest."

Arthur opened his mouth to deny it, but Merlin put up a hand to interrupt him. "If you speak now, you are only convincing yourself," he told him. Merlin then sighed and looked at both of his friends, his grim expression softening just a little. "You guys did great last evening and this morning, but it's not enough just saying you guys want to seem him happy when your faces betray you…"

"Should we go sulk in private then?" Arthur asked. This whole topic was getting rather sensitive for him.

"I don't want to sulk," Morgana said, looking horrified.

"I understand, Morgana," Merlin said quickly. "There shouldn't be any sulking anyway." He shot Arthur a pointed look as he said this. Arthur was surprised when he heard this, but his silence assured Merlin that he got the message.

"That's much better," Merlin said. "Now, just be normal. Or your versions of normal. He's happy, she's happy. We have no right to ruin that equation."

Arthur and Morgana nodded. Merlin moved aside from the door and allowed them to pass. As they stepped unto the hallway, Merlin had one more thing to add.

"Just try not to think of them kissing or anything."

The echo of the smack administered by both Pendragons on Merlin's shoulder reverberated along the entire hallway.

"Thanks a lot, Merlin!" they each said, before walking away in opposite directions.

"I was only trying to help," Merlin called out, talking to himself. He winced as he touched his shoulder and just then, Eliza passed the hallway. Merlin gave half a pout and she immediately felt a wave of sympathy for the young man. The household staffs were all fond of him and soon, Merlin was in the kitchen, seeking treatment for the pain in the neck brought on by the exposure to _Arthuritis_ and _Morganitis_. He was apparently cured after devouring half a dozen freshly baked shortcakes and a tall glass of milk, courtesy of the head cook, who had promised him more snacks should he experience any symptoms of the diseases again.

* * *

Lance was showing her the oldest section of the castle, the main hall, when Guinevere had an epiphany. It struck her unexpectedly as Lance showed the foundation stone laid by the first Du Bois to build the castle. She instantly felt bad that her thoughts were occupied with this epiphany; the foundation stone laid six – hundred years ago deserved much more respect and admiration that she could muster at that moment. Nevertheless, as she walked with Lance into the main hall to begin their tour of the castle, that single thought kept replaying in her mind.

She wanted Lance to kiss her.

Guinevere was surprised that such a thought would occur to her at this time, but even more surprising than that was the intensity of it to happen right then. A student of architecture, she should be giddy with joy at experiencing the rich history and beauty of the castle, but all she wanted was Lance to kiss her. And they were not even on a plane; the ground cannot get any more solid than the floor of Arthur's castle.

Lance was in the middle of the room, on his haunches near the foundation stone, telling her the history of the castle. Or so he thought. Guinevere was near the doorway, wondering why this errant thought of hers could not come at a less inconvenient time; like in the evening, or when they were out of the castle. She felt as if she should not be thinking of kissing Lance, let alone act out on the idea of kissing Lance, in the castle. It felt wrong in so many levels and thankfully, since her mind is preoccupied with getting Lance to kiss her, she did not have the time to think why it would be so wrong to kiss Lance in the castle.

Lance was on his feet, pointing to the tapestries that told the story of the Du Bois clan over the centuries when Guinevere walked up to him. She put a hand on his shoulder, interrupting his definitely – enlightening lecture of the castle and Arthur's maternal ancestors. Lance turned around to face her, perplexed. He was about to ask her what was wrong, when Guinevere pulled him down for a kiss.

Lance initial surprise lasted three seconds before he started kissing her back. They drew apart moments later, a most satisfied smile on Guinevere's face. Lance looked as if he had been caught with his hands inside the biscuit tin; he enjoyed the biscuit, but not the act of getting the biscuit. It was the worst of analogies, but one Guinevere felt was apt for the moment.

"What was that for?" Lance asked, the tremble in his voice just slightly discernible.

"Confirmation," Guinevere replied. She linked her arm though his as they walked out of the main hall and towards the first room in the ground floor.

Lance asked what the kiss had confirmed, but Guinevere had seen an interesting drawing outside the ballroom and inquired about it. It was of four stick figures standing in front of a grey box and an orange sun in the sky. The drawing stood out in its infantile images compared to the rest of the masterpieces Guinevere had seen in the castle. Lance explained that it was Merlin's class project when he was eight; he sold the drawing to Arthur for thirty pence and a liquorice stick.

Guinevere had laughed and with Lance no longer curious about the kiss, they went around the castle, Guinevere enjoying the tour and the revelation brought on by the kiss. It was one epiphany after another; something she was glad she had, for it had finally resolved the status of her relationship with Lance. That almost made her want to skip. It was a relief, a burden off her shoulders that she never knew she bore. The kiss did not tell her this, but the emotions behind the kiss did.

When she first kissed him at the airport, there had been a little …spark, a bit of an excitement. It was as if she had been standing in the threshold of a newly – opened pastry shop; so many sweet possibilities, ignited by the fact that Lance too was equally interested in her. After that, there had not been many moments alone with Lance, let alone intimate ones; and as she stood in the main hall listening to him, looking at the man who had held her hands in the aeroplane, assuring her it was perfectly safe to fly and that more people are killed on a regular basis on the road than in the skies, she knew she could never find another best friend as she had in Lance. He was solid; a safety net; a friend she could she could call up on a bad day and rant and he would willingly listen and then come over with a huge tub of chocolate ice – cream to cheer her up.

And since she was a on a roll with bad analogies that morning, Guinevere decided that being friends with Lance was like having a gorgeous gay best friend who happens to be straight.

The bought a smile to her face, but she bit it down, trying to put on serious face as Lance showed her tapestries wove by the silk – weavers of Japan at the behest of another one of Arthur's great – great grandfather.

The second epiphany was when Lance had kissed her back. There was a split – second pause...he actually seemed hesitant to kiss her.

When she had kissed Lance, she had hoped that tiny little spark from the airport would turn into an all – consuming fire. It had not. Lance was not a bad kisser; she always felt he held himself back. The tiny spark she felt at the airport remained, but Guinevere knew it needed a lot of work to turn that spark into fire. Guinevere had always believed that attraction should never be a lot of work; attraction is nature…when the chemistry is right, it happens. She felt momentary sadness as she thought of this, but she did not share that chemistry with Lance. She could, but then, the both of them would have to work extra hard to make it happen.

Lance, being the great guy he is should not suffer knowing that Guinevere had been uncomfortable when they had kissed in the main hall. It is like breaking an unwritten violation; a trespass she could not quite figure out yet. It was not a nice tribute to pay to such a gorgeous guy.

Besides, why should they both look for something that is obviously not there? That would be a colossal, almost sinful waste of time and effort. Time that they could spend as friends.

And with that, she finally had a name for their '_whatever-ship_'.

Friendship.

In all fairness, when she first met him by walking into his shot of the chapel he had come to photograph, one look at him and she knew she would have killed to have him as her boyfriend. That was attraction and her penchant for guys with guys with cameras and shy smiles. And that was three weeks ago, when it did not seem so complicated. They could have gone on, fuelled by the fact that they seem to like each other; but the relationship would have stagnated and then, she would have lost a friend. Having Lance as a friend seemed liked a better deal for her right now. She did not want a reluctant boyfriend, no more than she wanted to be uncomfortable whenever they were alone together.

With all epiphanies quickly processed and noted, Guinevere concentrated on the present. The tour of the castle turned out to be more enjoyable than the both of them had thought possible. They ended the tour at the dungeons, laughing and bantering in a way that she never thought would have been possible had she not instigated the kiss earlier. He gave her a sketch map of the way to kitchen. She kissed him, chaste and on his cheek and thanked him for the map. She was about to go up the stone stairs when Lance called out her name.

"Gwen?"

"Yes, Lance?" she said, turning to look at him.

"What did it confirm?" he asked.

Guinevere was about to open her mouth to answer him when they heard Merlin's voice at the top of the stairs, calling for Lance.

"Are you down there, mate?" Merlin shouted, his voice echoing down to them.

"Yes," Lance called back. "Gwen is just on her way up." Turning to Guinevere, he said, "Needless to say, you are going to have a great time while I am stuck here."

"We will try," Guinevere replied, as she made her way up the stairs. "See you later."

Lance waved her off before entering the dungeon. Guinevere walked up the stairs, having decided that for the next few hours, she just wanted to have a good time and not spend it analyzing her relationships. Things were going great and the sight of Arthur Pendragon walking towards her, golden and all Greek god-like under the sun, confirmed to her just how great the day would be.


	8. Chapter 8

Arthur wanted to see his vegetable garden before they set out for their walk to the village. Merlin immediately protested, saying that he did not want to spend his time looking for the vegetables hidden amongst the undergrowth Arthur cultivated in the patch of land behind the kitchen, which he proudly proclaims a vegetable garden. The protest was, naturally, ignored and Arthur led the way to his garden.

It actually looked worse than he had imagined.

"This is Arthur's attempt at being a farmer," Merlin told Guinevere. "If there is a famine outbreak in England or we get mysteriously transformed into cows, Arthur will save us all from starvation with the weeds he has grown in his vegetable garden."

Arthur would have smacked Merlin again, but he was more concerned with his vegetables at the moment. The ones he could see anyway. The weeds has choked off most of his seedlings that he had planted on his last visit to Tintagel before leaving for Barbados. Arthur regrets not asking his gardener to look into his garden, but he had wanted to grow his garden by himself, without anyone's help. If he could run the most successful military contractor company in the country and negotiate with heads of governments, he could damn well grow his own tomatoes. However, that was not the case. Looking around, he only saw green and not the kind he was expecting to see. His beloved vegetable garden was over run by weeds. He stepped deeper into the unknown territory that was his patch of garden, leaving Merlin and Guinevere standing where at least they could see their own feet on the ground. His gardener, Angus, who must have spotted him in the garden, came hurrying towards him. Even the seasoned gardener was hesitant to enter the undergrowth.

"Angus, I think my melons are dead," Arthur told Angus as he cleared some weeds to reveal a vegetable bed.

Merlin's shout of laughter rang clear across the garden. Arthur looked up from his vegetable gardens and saw Merlin laughing, clutching his sides as if he had just heard the funniest joke in the world. Guinevere was biting back a smile.

"Get you mind out of the gutters, Merlin!" Arthur shouted from where he stood. "Seriously, anyone would think you were fifteen."

Glancing at Guinevere, he could see that she was laughing now.

"Shut up, Merlin!"

"But I didn't say anything," Merlin shouted back, frowning.

"That is for the future stupid thing you are going to say," Arthur replied, shaking his at disgust at both his garden and Merlin. He stepped out of the vegetable bed and made his towards them, pushing aside waist- high weeds. When he finally stepped out of the undergrowth, Guinevere approached Arthur, an eyebrow raised in amusement, as she removed bits of garden that was stuck on his hair. She shook her head, smiling.

Arthur wished she would stop doing that. Her smile was doing nothing good to him. Having had accused of Merlin's mind being in the gutters, Arthur's mind was, unfortunately, marching down the same path. But how could he help himself, when Guinevere was in front of him, her smile just begging him to kiss her? Maybe that was stretching it; her smile was just that of amusement, but what a beautiful sight it was. At that moment, Arthur had a flash of an image blazing in his mind; Arthur stepping out of his garden; a well-cultivated one without a bloody weed in sight, because this was, after all, his own subconscious conjuring up the images and it might as well be as perfect as possible. Guinevere would approach him, wearing a white cotton dress and a large hat. She would embrace him and he would push the hat away so that he can look into her eyes and then, he would...

"Well, Arthur, if you're done looking at your non-existent garden, maybe we can actually start showing Guinevere the bit of Tintagel that is not overgrown with weeds," Merlin's voice snapped Arthur from his reverie.

Arthur knew there was nothing deliberate about Merlin's comments; his friend was doing everyone a favour by not letting his imagination run wild. "My garden has...has..." Arthur began, tearing his eyes away from Guinevere's smile. "Potential."

"Says who? The cows and goats?" Merlin said, frowning as he pondered on who would stoop as low as to actually commend Arthur and his misguided notions of being a farmer. Arthur's plot of garden was too small to be considered a real garden, let alone a farm. A long time ago, Tristan Du Bois, Arthur's grand – uncle had always referred to himself more of a farmer than a landowner and the current Marquis of Tintagel apparently thought gardening was a simple as scratching the ground with a rake and throwing some seedling unto a vegetable bed.

"He has an open relationship with the farm animals," Arthur said, looking at Guinevere. "Thus, his in-depth knowledge of the interests of hoofed animals and the like." Glancing to Merlin, he added, "The garden just needs some work and a bit more attention..."

"And a prayer if anything is to ever grow in it," Guinevere said quietly, much to Arthur's amazement. Merlin grinned when he heard this; he always appreciates it when he has an ally in irritating Arthur.

Arthur was speechless, partly because of what Guinevere had said, but mostly because of the fact that she had said it. Unlike the time when they were at the Hall and Guinevere had been slightly uncomfortable in their presence, she was much more relaxed now and was less awkward around them. Then, Merlin said something, Arthur did not catch what it was, and Guinevere started laughing. Watching Guinevere as she shared a joke with Merlin, Arthur could not help but to smile. His best friend and his...

That felt like a bucket of cold water being emptied over his head. The thought startled him. What was he thinking? He was looking at his best friend and the girl, who was with his other best friend, laugh. In a heartbeat, Arthur had almost thought of Guinevere as his...

His...what?

He shook his head, the thought of what he was thinking frightening him...confusing him. People should not be in complicated situations like this, he thought to himself. He could not help feeling envious of Merlin who had the luxury of the calling Guinevere his friend and knowing to himself that that is the truth. Merlin could declare his affection for Guinevere openly and there would be nothing wrong with it. And here Arthur was, trying to struggle to find a suitable word to sum up what Guinevere was to him.

_Guest?_

Too impersonal. Lady Huntington was a guest and he never really cared about that old bat anyway.

_Lance's gir..._

Oh God, he could not even visualize the word, let alone the image of the two of them together.

_Lance's friend?_

His best friend's name keeps popping up everywhere. Beside, the name implied that Guinevere was exclusively Lance's friend. Guinevere was a friend to all of them.

_Arthur's friend?_

Arthur almost laughed when he thought of that. It had a hopeless connotation to it; the thought of it was nice, but not what it actually implies; that Arthur would forever be an arm's length away from her. And he would not know what she thought about his garden, about the castle...about everything really. And he would forever be wondering what it would be like to kiss a smiling Guinevere on a beautiful day such as this.

"Master Pendragon?" Angus's voice was not exactly a welcome reprieve from his thoughts, but Arthur decided then that no matter how delightful any thoughts of and about Guinevere was, eventually, it was just too torturous to bring him anything but misery.

"Yes, Angus?" Arthur said, turning his attention back to the gardener. Merlin and Guinevere had moved away to another part of the garden that looked civilized enough to warrant a look and a visit. The gardener was waiting for Arthur's suggestion about the garden. Arthur thanked him and told him to leave the garden as it was; something that caused absolute distress to the gardener who kept the rest of the castle grounds immaculate. Angus went away and Arthur went to catch up with Merlin and Guinevere.

They walked out of the castle grounds and into the village, Arthur and Merlin having to stop every now and then to say hello to any passing villagers. Since they were headed to Gaius's surgery, they decided to take the path through the farmlands, as Guinevere could see the village square when they go to the fair later on. Guinevere seemed to enjoy herself and she asked about the history of Tintagel and its buildings; something Arthur was glad that he knew a bit of. His morning was more enjoyable because he was getting the lion's share of Guinevere's attention. Merlin was on his best behaviour; he did not make too much fun of Arthur, but perhaps that is due to Arthur being in his best behaviour.

Gaius's surgery was just in sight when suddenly they heard the voice of a young boy calling for help. The three of them were immediately alert and ran towards the river, where the sound of the boy was coming from. The river ran the length of the farmland, forming a natural border between the cultivated land and the woods of Tintagel. They reached the clearing that opened into the river and saw a small boy, the child of one of the villagers, standing on the riverbank, looking very agitated.

"Jamie? What's wrong?" Merlin was the first to approach the boy.

"Merlin!" The boy recognized Merlin immediately. He looked glad to see all of them. Then, he pointed towards the river. "Bernadette's fallen into the river!"

"What?" Merlin, Arthur and Guinevere started scanning the river, looking for the tell tale signs of a drowning child. Arthur was already removing his shoes and the light jacket he wore, intent on saving the child.

"Where did she fall in?" Guinevere asked, kneeling down in front of the boy. "Did you see her?"

"There she is," the boy said, pointing towards a large rock that sat half-submerged in the water. All three pairs of eyes followed in the direction where the boy was indicating.

"That's...Bernadette?" Arthur asked, trying to keep his incredulity in check. Sitting on the aforementioned rock was a small Jack Russell puppy; soaking wet, shivering in cold and generally looking none too good.

Realizing the gravity of the situation to the child, Merlin and Guinevere refrained themselves from laughing or smiling. Jaime explained that he and Bernadette had been playing by the river when the bit of riverbank Bernadette had been peeing on gave way and the puppy fell into the water. It managed to somehow to climb unto the rock, since the riverbank was too steep for it. Now, Bernadette was too scared to swim back and Jaime was too scared of falling into the river.

"Don't worry, Jaime," Merlin said, looking very solemn. "Arthur will save Bernadette." He glanced at Arthur, who kept his eyes on the puppy, not knowing if he should laugh or throw Merlin into the river for being so bloody dramatic about this.

"Why should I rescue Bernadette? Why don't you rescue the puppy? Why name a puppy Bernadette?" Arthur asked, as Merlin stood next to him on the riverbank. They were whispering, in case Jaime got more distraught with the adults' seemingly indifferent approach to his predicament. Guinevere was with Jaime, assuring the child that Bernadette would be safe.

"You're the save-the-world type personality here," Merlin said, grinning at Arthur. "You probably had decided that you have to save the puppy because I am a vegetarian and Guinevere is a woman. And Bernadette is a perfectly fine name for a puppy."

Arthur frowned when he heard this, but after a moment's consideration, he knew it what Merlin had said was, in a way, the truth. If there is any risk involved, Arthur was willing to do it himself. So, he took a deep breath, folded up his jeans up to his knees, and gingerly tested the water with his big toe.

Arthur gasped when his skin touched the icy water. Turning around, he saw Merlin with his thumbs' up and a ridiculous grin; looking as if the gesture was enough to warm the water. Guinevere, holding Jaime's hand, looked as hopeful and eager as the child did.

Wonderful, Arthur thought. An audience with an expectation; though he wondered what he could possibly do to make the entire process of wading through the thigh-deep icy water seem more dramatic.

Arthur stepped into the water, with Merlin's help, and went towards the rock where Bernadette was. When he approached the puppy, it gave a growl; a sound that almost made Arthur laugh because the puppy was still shivering and the sound it made was more comical than threatening. He extended his hand to pick Bernadette and the puppy showed its gratitude by taking a nip at Arthur's fingers.

"Ouch!" the sound that escaped from Arthur's lips was decidedly girlish; something that drew laughter from Merlin.

"Are you all right?" Guinevere called out. Although she was smiling, she looked concerned. Very concerned. Arthur felt he owed Bernadette a biscuit for its effort.

"Bernadette's a bit upset," Arthur replied, turning to the puppy again. This time, Bernadette was not hostile to its rescuer. Nevertheless, Arthur was sure that the warm liquid that trickled down his arm as he walked back towards the riverbank did not originate from the river but came from inside the puppy. He took it all in stride, because Guinevere was looking at him as if she was proud of him and that made everything bearable. He handed the puppy to Merlin, who gave it to a grateful Jaime. He then took a step forward to climb up to the riverbank when he misplaced his foot on a slimy patch of rock. He managed to haul himself on one foot, when his foot gave way and he found himself falling.

The last thing he saw was Guinevere looking up from the puppy, her smile turning into a look of horror as she saw him falling into the water. And then, everything went black and he could not remember anything else.

* * *

It took Lance half an hour to sort through his files in his laptop and send the mail the appropriate files to his office. He was alone in the dungeon because he had just sent the gardener's son, who was supposed to monitor their mobiles and the castle's surveillance cameras, for a half an hour break. The boy looked as if he needed one; he had just seen the young maid he fancied headed to the kitchen garden with a basket in hand. The boy did not need a second invitation. He shot out of the dungeon, in search of his object of affection. Lance smiled after him, shaking his head and turned back to his laptop.

As he waited for the confirmation of receiving the pictures from his office, Lance went through the pictures he had taken in Milan. Most of it was of the match he covered. Some of it was the artwork he managed to see at the stadium, his hotel, and the restaurant where he had his meals; these were for Merlin. There was also some shots at the bar Lance and the rest of the English press had gone to for a post-match celebratory drink. He went through these photographs quickly, deleting those he did not want. He paused when he came to the final photo of the collection.

The photograph was that of Guinevere. They had been at the airport cafe when Lance , who had been checking his camera at the time, took the impromptu picture of Guinevere. She was seated at a table, a jumbo –sized mug of coffee in front of her. Half a dozen empty sugar sachets lay forlorn next to the cup, decimated into tiny pieces. On a saucer on the other side of the cup was a small hill of sugar. Her hands were on the table, twisting a straw. Her face was turned to the side; Lance only got her profile. Her expression was straddling the fine line between worry and all out panic. She had no idea he had photographed her. She had not been aware of many things at that time; her fear of flying and crashing rendering simple thoughts and actions almost impossible. She managed to switch seats to be next to him before the plane took off, but Lance did not think that he helped that much. Guinevere refused to undo her safety belt even after they were airborne. Lance wanted to point out that a safety belt would probably be a hindrance should there hypothetically be a crash, but he had refrained himself. Guinevere looked as if she could not handle the fact they were thirty – thousand feet in the air, let alone the dreaded c-word. She managed to tell him that her journey to Italy had been easier because she had taken the train to France and then had someone drive her into Italy. She would have gone for the same route for her return journey, but her office had paid for the business class seat and told her to get back to London before the next day. She said even God must have pitied her, which was why she and Lance were in the same flight. She held his hand, cutting off his blood supply and only realizing it somewhere halfway in the French airspace. She only let his hand go when she saw the London skyline and was one of the first to disembark. When Lance cleared Customs, he saw her at the terminal's entrance, a completely different Guinevere than the one who had been panicking in the plane. She thanked him and then, had kissed him, as if to compensate for his kindness and his dead hand.

It was chaste kiss, but Guinevere must have felt an acute need for gratitude, so it soon developed into...something else. Of course, Lance was obliged to return the kiss. It was a brief kiss, but one that had held much possibilities. At that moment, the chemistry between them had been just right.

That has been his thought in the span of a heartbeat. In the next heartbeat however, a single name emerged from the kiss-induced haze; a single thought that ignited in his mind, bringing forth the memory of a smile and azure eyes. He just let the thought hang at the back of his mind, as he said his goodbye to Guinevere and promised her that he would call her later that evening. And as he walked to where Merlin had been waiting for him, the thought persisted; he was unable to fight it, as much as he was unable to give it the consideration it deserved. He had lived with this torment for so long that it was almost a second nature to him; he knew that if that thought ceases to be, he would be at loss, not knowing what to do. The thought was a part of him; it had its grips not just of his mind, but of his heart and soul as well.

It was the most beautiful of thoughts, but one that makes Lance feel as if he is living a lie, being dishonest to those around him and especially to the person he sees in the reflection of his mirror. It was a thought that spurs him when all around him is bleak. It is the thought that accompanies him to work, letting him see the beauty and wonder of the world around him. Yet, it was the same thought that accompanies him home on the nights when he returns home after spending the evening with a woman. On those occasions, the thought mingled with self-loathing so strong that it takes days before he is able to look at himself in the mirror again. The thought reminds him, that despite his best intentions, he is still a liar to the women he was with because he could never give them all of himself; body, mind or soul.

The thought, always painfully reminds him, that every woman he is with, is never Morgana.

He turned his attention to the monitor screen of his laptop, the screensaver was on, showing a slideshow of miscellaneous photographs taken of his friends. A photograph of Morgana and Merlin taken at the Glastonbury Music festival a year ago fills the screen. Morgana was the focus of the picture, with Merlin in the foreground. Morgana had her eyes closed and her hands clasped, as if she was having a religious experience as she listened to Snow Patrol. Although there were people jostling around her, Morgana stood out from the rest of them; ethereal comes close to describing the perfection that she is.

The picture dissolved into tiny pixels, to be replaced with one of Morgana with Arthur taken at the same location. This time she had an umbrella raised above her head, ready to attack her stepbrother who seemed unfazed with the violence that was about to unfold, which came about after his comment on Morgana should not really bother with a suntan lotion because she was a vampire and all that.

If Lance was asked to blame someone for his predicament, he would blame Uther Pendragon for marrying Morgana's mother. The blame line ends there because no one invited him to fall for Morgana. He was not sure if a rule existed, one that prohibited someone for falling for his or her best friend's stepsister. His friendship with Arthur was the closet he has to a family. Morgana was his friend by default because she was related to Arthur. Could he risk throwing away twenty – years of friendship for a mere attraction he felt for Morgana? Lance stood to loosing everything and everyone he cares if his friends find out about his feelings for Morgana.

_Things may work out..._

As predicted, the little voice deep in his subconscious was quick with its assurance. Lance should his head; he was not going to risk everything on a '_maybe'_ that resounded from the back of his head. Not when he was perfectly capable of rationalizing and still had the capacity to be logical. His attraction to Morgana was south of the rational zone and the only logical thing to do about it, as he had for the as long he could remember, was to just let it be. Morgana had not shown any indication that she was even remotely interested in him in the same manner he was of her. If she even had an inkling of an attraction towards him, she would not have mooted the idea of inviting Guinevere to Tintagel for the weekend.

He pushed a button on his laptop, refreshing his screen. His office had sent their confirmation, so, Lance's work was done. The picture of Guinevere reappeared on the screen and Lance looked at the picture, smiling. Girls like Guinevere were the sort the guy with the hottest girl in the club dream of taking home to their mothers. She was safe, and not in bad way. She would be strength behind any man lucky enough to have her.

This is why he knew he could not carry on with their relationship. When she had kissed him at the airport, he knew it had been gratitude. Today at the main hall, he was not sure. Perhaps, it was the normal course of action a girl takes in a relationship. A girl like Guinevere did not deserve someone like him. She deserved everything a man has to offer. Lance has everything, but his heart, inevitably, belongs to another. And he would not go down the same course as he had with the other women he has dated; women who had looked for nothing more than a good time before moving on to the next thing that catches their fancy. Not that there had been many of them in Lance's life; one or two, who had appreciated his company, among other things...but their appreciation does little for his guilt.

He will talk to Guinevere soon, he promised himself, as he powered down his laptop. He genuinely liked Guinevere but he was wrong for her. She deserved someone better, someone like...

No. He was not going to go there. His love life has enough complications on its own. It is always a bad idea to interfere in the lives' of other, let alone matters of the heart. For now, he thought, as he made his way out of the dungeon, he just wanted to save Guinevere and himself from unnecessary heartache that none of them deserved.


	9. Chapter 9

Arthur was aware that he was lying on his back. He could feel the grass tickling the back of his neck and the dew soaking into his clothes. He found that rather strange because it was mid – morning, with the sun was blazing as if to make up for a feeble summer; it was hardly the condition for dew-soaked grass. He did not know why it the dew bothered him so much when he should be concerned with the fact that the sky was white. Well, slightly off-white, without a cloud in sight. If fact, there was nothing but white, as if the sky had been engulfed in one large bed linen.

Then, he became aware of the warmth on his side, just below his chest. It was a comforting sensation, because once he was aware of the warmth, he realized that he was feeling very cold. Before he can figure out why he was on his back and cold, a dark spot moved at the periphery of his vision. He could hardly make the shape of it; it was just a blur. He tried to concentrate on the shape, but found it hard to do so. It was as if his brains...

Of course. It all came rushing back to him just then. Jaime. Bernadette. The icy-cold river. And him falling into the river. The memory must have been a trigger of some sort, for the moment he thought of the fall, he felt a dull aching at the back of his head.

The dark spot moved closer to his face. He still could not see focus his vision, but he could feel the warmth on his side pressing closer to his body and warm breath on his face.

"Arthur? Are you all right? Can you hear me?"

That was Guinevere's voice. She sounded close. And worried. The dark spot above him moved closer to his face. It must be Guinevere. She must be checking on him, which made sense because he fell into a river and all that.

What, surprisingly, did not make any sense was Guinevere suddenly licking his face. Arthur was startled...shocked actually. Why would she...

And what would Lance say about this public display of...

_Concern?_

_ Lust?_

"Arthur? Are you all right?" She spoke again, persisting with the licking.

How was he supposed to answer when she was administering the most unconventional, but not unwelcome, treatment for his condition?

Suddenly he felt someone hitting his cheek, shaking his head. That jolted his senses a little, enough for some auto-reflex functions to kick-start again. The white haze lifted as he opened his eyes and saw the blue sky, cloudless and the appropriate shade of blue that he remembered seeing this morning when they set out from the castle.

There was a small yelp and Arthur was subjected to another round of face – licking, courtesy of Bernadette.

Arthur gave a disgusted cry; he tried grabbing the puppy, as he struggled to get up to a sitting position. His vision and motor skills must have been in shock after his fall, thus the task was even more difficult than anticipated. But Arthur struggled on, the thought of a puppy's favourite pass time of licking itself providing an unlikely motivation for him to free himself from the puppy's ministration.

Then, he felt a hand, a human hand, getting hold of his own and another on his chest, pushing him back to the ground. Guinevere appeared in his field of vision, shaking her head.

"Calm down, Arthur," she spoke, her voice soft but firm. She was on her knees by his side. She let go of his hand, moved Bernadette from region of his face, and placed it beside her. She still kept another hand on his chest, to stop him from getting up.

"Guinevere?" he finally found his voice, though he wondered why he sounded so breathless.

"Are you all right?" she asked again, looking concerned.

That was a difficult question to answer, he decided. Though he was feeling marginally better than he was a few moments ago, the back of his head hurt a little. His brain function was apparently not compromised, because he could discern that he was wet, and because of that, was freezing. His senses was a little off though, because Arthur did not know if what he felt was normal; Guinevere's hand on his chest was causing reactions in places far away from where her hand was on his body.

"I am fine," he said, sounding a bit more normal, laying his head back on the ground. Bernadette promptly came and sat near his head. The smell and sensation of a wet dog near his head did not do anything good for his well – being at that moment though.

"Does your head hurt?" Guinevere said, visually checking him for any injuries that might have escaped him. An action, Arthur admitted, only made him more aware that he was soaking wet in his t-shirt and jeans and probably looking more like Bernadette than a hero.

"A bit," he replied and wanted to protest when she took her hands away from his chest. He wondered if he should milk the sympathy he had no doubt she felt for him, when he suddenly remembered something. "Where is Merlin?" he asked, trying to get up again, worried that Merlin might have been swept down the river as he attempted to rescue him.

"Went to get Gaius with Jaime," Guinevere explained. "They left Bernadette as protection." She could not help the smile as she said this.

"Against what?" Arthur remarked, as he turned to look at Bernadette, who had gotten up and chasing after a grasshopper it had spotted on the nearby bushes. "An attack of things that are constituted as not cute enough?"

Guinevere giggled, a sound that did wonders for his headache. "She's very grateful to you, you know," Guinevere said, glancing at Bernadette, who was now sniffing around Arthur's shoes.

"Yes, I can see that," Arthur said, pointing at Bernadette, as the puppy lifted its leg and let loose a stream of yellow liquid right into his shoes. Bernadette must have been very grateful indeed, for she was at it for long time. Must have swallowed a lot of river water when she fell in, Arthur thought, looking at his woeful shoes that were beyond salvaging.

Guinevere laughed, settling down on the grass next to him. She drew her legs to her chest, wrapping her arms around it, her bare feet just inches away from his hand. She looked at him, not in the least uncomfortable with the wet man lying on the grass. "Merlin almost gave himself a heart attack when you slipped into the river. Nearly did a swan-dive into knee-deep water before jumping in after you."

Arthur smiled, knowing that Guinevere was glossing over the full on panic attack Merlin had probably gotten himself into when he saw Arthur falling into the river. Arthur would have done the same. "I'll get him a new car for saving me," Arthur replied, sighing, infinitely comfortable with this arrangement. If he were not freezing, it would have been perfect.

"That is a favour to yourself," Guinevere pointed out, smiling.

Arthur laughed when he heard this. Guinevere had a surprising sense of humour; one that he was sure could keep him entertained for a long time. He hoped that Gaius and Merlin would not hurry back to tend to him.

"Besides, if you are going to give your rescuer a car, make that two," Guinevere remarked. "I helped too."

Arthur was surprised when he heard this. Looking at her more closely now, he saw that her jeans too were wet and clinging to her legs. Half her shirt was wet too, although it was fast drying up. Arthur pushed himself up to his elbow and despite Guinevere's protests, sat up, taking a moment to let his body reclaim equilibrium from his movement. Water dripped down from his clothes and hair, making him uncomfortable and just slightly miserable. "I..." he began but found himself speechless. "You..." He did not think that saying she should not have bothered was an appropriate response to her efforts in saving him. The river might have not been deep, but that does not necessarily make it any less dangerous. "Thank you, Guinevere."

Guinevere waved it aside, shaking her head, "Merlin did most of the work," she said. "I just helped a bit."

"Then, you will not get the car," Arthur said, a smile forming at the corner of his mouth.

"Oh? I think I deserve a reward for saving the Marquis's life," Guinevere said. Arthur was not sure if it was her smile, or her proximity, but he knew, any moment then, his heart is going to stop beating and he was going to die a happy man.

"You shall have a reward," he replied. Without thinking, took her hand into his. He kissed the back of her hand, more of lightly brushing lips against her warm kiss. "A dance with the Marquis at the ball tomorrow night."

She was looking at him, surprised. Silence fell between them, but not the kind that could be classified as awkward. In fact, it was the kind of electrically charged type of silence that is the prelude to a kiss. Arthur looked at Guinevere, experiencing no pain, feeling none of the wetness; he could only see Guinevere, smell her fresh scent and listen to her calm breathing. There was just the two of them, nothing else. Arthur was sure that there was nothing else he could do but to kiss her...the curve of her lips an invitation he could not ignore...nothing felt wrong at that moment; it would have only been wrong if he did not kiss her...

Bernadette chose that moment to include Arthur in its play; it jumped unto Arthur's lap and started nuzzling inappropriately.

"Bernadette! You..." Arthur was startled when the animal jumped, but still had enough control from launching into a profanity – laced tirade that would not have endeared him to Guinevere or any animal lover. Guinevere was laughing again; she picked up Bernadette and held her, as Arthur groaned and slumped back to the ground.

While Guinevere berated Bernadette for being such a bad dog, Arthur stared back up at the sky, wondering what would have happened if he had kissed Guinevere.

_ It would have been bloody fantastic. _

_ It would have been bloody idiotic, because no one kisses their best friend's gir...friend...guest. _

Of course, Arthur thought. Best friend. Brothers in all but blood. Family.

As if the Universe wanted to strengthen that fact, at that moment, Arthur heard the familiar, definitely unwelcome sound of a VW Bug, as Gaius drive it down the farmland path. The yellow Bug stopped near them and Merlin stepped out, looking very worried. The expression on his face softened a little when he saw Arthur awake, but he still looked displeased, as if he knew what Arthur had been doing and thinking just moments ago. He made his way towards him, Gaius following close behind.

"Arthur Pendragon, is there any way you could visit Tintagel and not try to harm yourself in any way?" Gaius asked, as he approached Arthur, who sat up again. Guinevere was standing now; Gaius greeted her warmly and asked if she was all right. She replied she was.

"That is not possible for as long as I am with Merlin," Arthur replied, as Gaius checked Arthur's limbs for injuries. The older man grinned as he checked Arthur's head. Arthur winced when Gaius touched a small bump at the back of his head. Gaius clucked his tongue, took out a small torchlight from his pocket and held it in front of Arthur's eyes to check pupil reaction. Satisfied with what he saw, he got up, clicking his torchlight off. He held out a hand Arthur. Arthur got up and swayed slightly, Merlin quickly got hold of Arthur's arm, steadying him.

"Nothing serious," Gaius declared, looking at Arthur and then at Merlin and Guinevere. "You probably hit your head on a passing trout..." He smiled to indicate that he was only trying to make the situation a little lighter.

"Poor trout," Merlin commiserated. Arthur glared at him, but it did not have the effect he wanted, seeing that he was holding on to Merlin for support in the first place.

"We'll get you back to the surgery and take an X-ray, just in case," Gaius said, turning back to his car. "I am not going to take any chances."

Arthur nodded. He knew he did not need any x-rays, but he has never won any arguments with Gaius before and he did not think today was going to be any different. With Merlin still supporting him, he walked towards Gaius's VW. Guinevere was nowhere to be seen. Arthur looked around, worried expression on his face.

"She's near the car," Merlin said softly, as if he could hear what Arthur was thinking.

"Oh."

"Am I going to have to smack your head?" Merlin asked, his tone conversational. They were talking in hushed voices, lest Gaius or Guinevere would hear them.

"I fell into a river, Merlin," Arthur pointed out, cynically. "I was unconscious for five minutes and then it took me another ten minutes before I could even feel my toes again. I am freezing and I could not have done anything even if I wanted to."

"I am just concerned," Merlin said, his voice quiet.

"I am not going to do anything..."

Merlin stopped walking. He looked at Arthur, a hint of a frown furrowing his brows. "My concern is for you, Arthur," he spoke, his voice quiet. "Maybe I am wrong, but it looks to me that you have a set a collision course towards an inevitable heartbreak."

"Why would I..."

"There is only one thing more tragic than a broken heart, and that's lonely broken heart," Merlin said, looking concerned.

"It will not come to that," Arthur said, tugging at Merlin's arm to get him walking again.

Merlin did not say anything. They reached Gaius's car and saw the older man talking to Guinevere. Merlin bundled Arthur into the back seat, before getting in beside him. Guinevere took the passenger's seat in front, holding Bernadette on her lap. It took several tries before Gaius's car fired into life. The journey to the surgery was silent, save for Guinevere speaking to Bernadette, telling the puppy she was the best puppy in the world in an effort to calm the poor creature who did not like being driven a car.

In the five minutes it took to get to Gaius's surgery on the village, Arthur knew Merlin's words were somewhat prophetic. It was mad, but when he saw Guinevere giving Bernadette a tummy rub, Arthur felt an emotion that he knew could only be jealousy; it felt like his heart was repeatedly stabbed using an extra – blunt butter knife and the whole image had a slightly greenish tinge to it. Bernadette gets a tummy rub for falling into the river and all Arthur got was probably a concussion and an embarrassing ride in Gaius's VW.

And like all jealous thoughts, this one too evolved in a rather spectacular fashion, into one of Lance getting a tummy rub from Guinevere.

Perfect. Arthur did not need an x-ray to check for his head injury. All these thoughts were the confirmation of a head injury far worse than what Gaius had feared.

And yes, with his head injured, there was just no stopping the heartbreak that he is bound to experience soon. If Merlin was to tell Arthur that he had warned him about it, Arthur knew he had an excuse; he had hit his head, on a passing trout.

* * *

The Tintagel Ladies' Club was in a bit of an upheaval. A crisis has erupted that has thrown a spanner, and by the sound of it, a monkey as well, into the well- oiled cog that is the Ladies' Club Annual Fair. One of the stall minders in the fair was getting married. It would not be that much of big deal if the stall was the one that sells muffins or teacakes. But the stall in question was THE stall of the fair, the one stall that generates a lot of interest, and subsequently, a lot of money. Last year, the stall beat the second – placed marmalade and preserves stall by a profit margin of £110. The stall made a profit of £230 without investing any capital and charging £1 for every '_purchase' _of the '_product' _it had on offer. Normally, a conservative lot most of the time, the Tintagel Ladies' Club have always maintained their '_A Kiss For a Pound_' stall was very chaste; and it is only a peck in the cheek, in an open stall where everyone can see what was going on. The stall was minded by a girl; the Harvest Queen, chosen among the university – going girls in Tintagel. This year's debutante was Jill Mallory, a twenty-year-old girl on a gap year from university. She was very cute and had been looking forward for her duties, until her boyfriend asked her to marry him and accompany him for the worldwide tour with Coldplay; he was one of the lighting supervisors for the band's stage show. She accepted and was off to London early this morning. The ladies at the club thought it was most selfish of her to leave them stranded like this; the deputy Harvest Queen was down with a hay fever and there was absolutely no one else who could mind the stall. The suggestion of closing the stall provoked an outrage not seen in the club since one of the members served Starbucks' Premium Brew instead of proper Earl Grey to drink.

Morgana sat in the midst of the chaos, amused that such a small matter would cause so much drama. Cups after cups of tea were consumed and all the women looked as if they could use with something stronger. Some were making frantic phone calls using the vicar's telephone; others were discussing possible replacement and many others were wringing their hands in despair. The stall's profit would be for the Christmas party for the children in the hospice that Gaius ran and every year, the money had been useful in providing the children with a good time and lovely gifts. And now, they were faced with the unthinkable...

She did not know what made her do it; perhaps it was the thought of Gaius. Or perhaps it was the children themselves. Or perhaps it was Mrs. Fern was calling her daughter, Sophia, convincing her to volunteer for the stall. Morgana frowned; Sophia was one of the worst snobs in the land. She has Arthur and the title of Marchioness on her crosshairs ever since she was fifteen and never forget to remind everyone and Arthur about it. It had been charming ten years ago, but now it was just plain revolting, not to mention rather disturbing. Putting her in the kissing stall would be like giving her an early Christmas present; the guys always spent more than ten pounds amongst them at the kissing stall and Sophia could take advantage of this and offer more than a pounds' worth. From what Morgana could discern from this side of the conversation, Sophia was on the verge of agreeing to it. Morgana groaned inwardly. Arthur was not the only one at risk here; Merlin and Lance were equally at risk because Sophia would settle for either one of them in a pinch. Morgana narrowed her eyes; another floozy she has to protect the guys from.

So, before she could give it more thought, and in the interest of the three guys, the words stumbled out of her mouth, "I'll do it."

There was a momentary silence. Then, the vicar's wife. Secretary of the Tintagel Ladies' Club spoke, "Bless you, Morgana." And Morgana found herself surrounded by grateful matrons who were very sure the profit for the stall would skyrocket this year. Morgana just smiled, knowing that may not be true. When she was seventeen, she minded the kissing stall and made a paltry £18 until the curvy Hanna Templeton replaced her and the collection rose to £97 in just an hour. Morgana decided that if the profits were low, she would just put in her own money; a few hundred pounds would hardly blow a dent in her expenditure. And she would be doing something at the Fair for a change, instead of just visiting.

Morgana's offer was applauded and recorded into the club's minutes. The meeting came to an end and the ladies filed out of the drawing room of the vicar's home, excited at the prospect of having the female equivalent of the Marquis minding the kissing stall. Morgana just took it all in her stride, deciding to give the stall at least two hours before having Philip deliver a '_message'_ from her office.

"Miss Morgana?" one of the ladies called out, stopping Morgana just before she stepped outside the house. Morgana turned around and saw Mrs. Mallory, the wife of the only advocate in Tintagel, and mother to the soon-to-be-wed Jill.

"Yes, Mrs. Mallory?" Morgana said, approaching the older woman. Morgana liked Mrs. Mallory; she was quiet and practical and always made the most delicious angel cakes.

"I have a favour to ask of you, my dear," Mrs. Mallory said, looking rather hopeful.

"What can I do for you, Mrs Mallory?"

"My niece, Anne Cavendish, is getting married this evening. And, as you know, Jill, has gone off to London," Mrs. Mallory began. "My sister-in-law is at her wits' end having one less bridesmaid..."

Oh God, Morgana thought. She knew exactly where this was leading her. An ugly dresses and an uglier leering best man. Morgana is just going to have to say no.

"You are the same dress size as Jill..."

"I have to mind the stall..." Morgana said, trying to be as gently as possible with the letdown.

"The wedding is at five, dear," Mrs. Mallory said quickly. "There will be plenty of time for you to get ready for the wedding. Please, Miss Morgana. It is just for half an hour, tops. Anne is my favourite niece and I think Master Pendragon has been sent an invitation as well. You will be coming for the wedding, after all. Only this time, in a different dress and seated somewhere else."

Morgana opened her mouth to say no, but she caught the look in Mrs. Mallory's expression. Morgana knew she could not save everyone...but today, she could at least save Mrs. Mallory and her niece.

"All right," Morgana said, unable to help the involuntary smile when Mrs. Mallory gave a quiet whoop of joy.

"That is wonderful, my dear," she said, kissing Morgana on the cheek. "I will deliver the dress to you at the Fair. Anne is going to be so thrilled; she has always admired you."

Morgana just smiled, nodding. She excused herself and went outside the house, her smile fading just a little. She hoped that after this, she would not be jinxed and spend the next few years of her life as a bridesmaid. In Morgana's opinion, there was nothing worse than faking a smile at someone's wedding.

As she walked to her car, Morgana hoped that Lance would not come to the wedding. She was not sure if she could handle being in the same church as Lance was; it seemed a terrible combination; flowers, vows, priests, rings and a bride and groom that is not her and Lance. And it would kill her if he were to see her in what is probably going to be the most hideous dress she had ever worn in her life.

She should have just said no, but now, it was too late.


	10. Chapter 10

The Tintagel fair was already underway by the time Lance got out of the castle. It was barely noon, but the weather remained splendid and people, not only from Tintagel, but also from the other villages close by, have decided to make a day out of it.

Lance walked to the fairground, his favourite off-duty camera around his neck. He stopped several times to take photographs of people or the things he saw that caught his fancy. He was working on a coffee table book on Tintagel; he has been at it for a year and was still on the process of photographing the best of Tintagel. His human subjects were always obliging; Lance was, after all, one of them.

He made his way to the village square, where the fair was being held. The village square had been cordoned off; no cars or public vehicles allowed as the square was turned into one open market. There were about twenty – five to thirty stalls, selling everything from quilts to roasted pheasant sandwiches.

As he reached the village square, he stopped to stay hello to some members of the Tintagel Ladies' Club. That had been an experience and an education in politeness and tactical evasiveness. The ladies were not so subtle with their queries as to why he was still single. Some offered the mobile numbers of their daughters, granddaughters, and nieces. Lance merely smiled at them and replied that he had missed out on marriage because all the lovely, wonderful women of Tintagel were happily married. He kissed them all for their troubles before walking away as quickly as it was politely possible, leaving the ladies wishing for surgical procedures on parts of their bodies and at least a decade shaven off their age.

Having escaped the clutches of the Ladies' Club, Lance walked along the stalls, looking at the merchandises sold, and taking some random shots that might unearth a gem of a picture later on. He also spotted some souvenirs he planned to buy the tea-lady and the night watchman at his office; none of his other colleagues was capable of appreciating the rustic charms of homemade marmalade or ginger snaps.

Lance finally came to the middle of the square, where the crowd seemed to be concentrated. These were the non – souvenir stalls; tarot – reading by a former hippie draped in muslin scarves, an exhibition of exotic pets, which was in a closed tent so that people would pay a pound to go inside and see the moody terrapins and albino pythons. Finally, there was the mainstay of the Tintagel Fair, the kissing stall.

In Lance's opinion, there was no other more sadder, politically – incorrect stall than the kissing stall. It was a joke from medieval times; a joke that was more painful than funny. Of course, this stall used to be the main reason they went to the fair for Lance, Arthur and Merlin. However, that had been when they had been younger, much younger, and the prettiest girl in the village was the stall minder. Now that they were grown up, the stall was an archaic reminder that, at one point in their lives, they had to pay to have a girl kiss them. What was even sadder and induces an involuntary shudder was the fact that they had spent more than a pound each at the stall. It was the worst – kind of flashback they could have and its very existence threatened their egos. They do not pay women to kiss them anymore, but the point was, the kissing stall belonged in the past, where it should have just stayed.

Lance approached the stall anyway, knowing there would be plenty of photography opportunities there. He excused his way amongst the crowd of men ; none of them looking happy as Lance jostled his way to the front of the line. He managed to get to the front of the line without getting his teeth knocked out by the irate men who had been waiting for more than half an hour for their turn to be kissed.

And when he saw the stall minder, he felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach. He could not believe it, he was sure he was dreaming. But when someone pushed him out of the way, he knew he was awake in what seemed like the worst nightmare in his life.

Morgana was holding court, seated on a high chair and kissing each man who had put a pound each in the collection jar next to her seat. The jar was almost full, but she was not done by a long shot. Some guys were holding fivers and tenners and one was taking out a twenty pounds note from his wallet. Some were old enough to be an uncle or a grandfather to Morgana, while some were too young. A few guys their age were standing in the line too. Maybe it was just his mind on an overdrive, but Lance could swear each one of them were handsome enough to grab Morgana's attention.

The thought of someone else walking away with Morgana afterwards was something Lance could not bear. He has seen Morgana with other guys before, but he has never seen her kissing someone else who is not Arthur or Merlin or Gaius or older than three. And here was a whole village of men waiting for her to kiss them...the thought of it was mind-boggling. It did not help that Morgana was so deep into her '_work'_ that she had not noticed him standing there for the last five minutes.

Lance glanced to the back of the line and could swear it had grown longer. That was when he realized the whole situation seemed a little unfair. It was unfair that Morgana kisses these men and he just gets to watch. It was for charity and he might as well do his bit for it. He had some extra change to spare, after all.

Lance knew that none of the guys there would give him a place at the top of the line, so he walked back, a long way back to the end of the line. He took his place behind two teenage boys who were discussing something that had to do with Morgana's body, but quickly changed it to the new line of football boots when they realized Lance was eavesdropping and not being too subtle about it. Lance crossed him arms and glared at the boys, who glared back and turned away from him. More guys joined the line and soon the single file became two. Lance wondered how Morgana was going to kiss them all.

It was only when almost at the front of the line, forty – five minutes later, that Lance actually wished he had not done this in the first place. He gets to kiss Morgana, as dictated by good social etiquettes and here he was, paying a pound for it, as if he was some kind of a desperate man, when what he really wanted to do was to save her from this stall and its skewed way of earning money for charity. Why can't the Tintagel Ladies' Club bake a few fruitcakes, for God's sake? He would buy the whole lot, just so that this...this does not happen. He was sure Arthur would not approve of this and so, he must act...in the interest of his step friend's best sister...

_What_?

He was only a boy away from Morgana...from doing his bit for charity. The fifty-five minutes he spent in line did not seem as long as the two minutes he waited for the boy in front of him to put his money into the collection jar and get his pounds' worth. Morgana was all business-like...smile, kiss, smile and a nod before turning to the next person in line.

It seemed time froze when Morgana's eyes locked onto Lance's. The smile, that was never quite a smile (it was only a show, Lance knew that much), wavered and apprehension dawned on her face.

"Just came to do my bit for charity," Lance said, giving a slight wave with his hand that held the pound note. He put it in the collection and looked at Morgana, wondering why he could not feel his heart; it was either beating too slowly or too fast, there was no telling what was going wrong. But standing in front of Morgana, waiting to be kissed by her, was...words failed him. There was nothing to describe it; it was not embarrassment, because there was nothing embarrassing about a woman like Morgana kissing him. It was hardly fear, because Lance was not doing anything wrong. It was not exactly excitement, because he had kissed her before on social occasions. When he heard the irritated murmurs of voices behind him, Lance snapped from his reverie and stepped forward towards Morgana, knowing that he was giving too much thought on what was essentially nothing more than a pound donated to charity.

Taking a step forward was stepping into Morgana's personal space; something that Lance had never breached before. Morgana was still Morgana, six feet away or six inches away, but today, up close with her blue eyes piercing directly into the hidden parts of his soul that loved her more than any one else in the world, Lance saw nothing else but the porcelain-perfection that is Morgana. He could not turn his eyes away from her; if he did, he was afraid he might just loose his equilibrium; her gaze was holding him to her and that was all that mattered.

He should have turned his face, but he did not. When his lips touched hers, all that existed was just him and her.

Lance kissed Morgana for what seemed like an eternity; it was only a minute or so, no more than two, before he realized what he was doing. Horrified, he pulled away, opening his eyes, seeing Morgana with her hand held out, as if beckoning him to her And at that moment, everything came crashing down on Lance.

_Arthur._

_Best friend's stepsister. _

_Wrong. _

_Wrong. _

_Wrong. _

And from the corner of his mind, an image of dark curls.

_Guinevere_.

Morgana was waiting for him to say something, but he could not even think straight. What was he supposed to say when he hardly had an explanation for what had happened. What was he supposed to say when he needed someone to tell him what had just happened.

"I..." He began, but no explanation was forthcoming.

Morgana opened her mouth to say something, but then, Lance found the word he wanted. "I'm sorry," he said. He meant it but wished he did not. He was not sorry he kissed her; his apology was for being so uncouth; he was sure she had not been waiting for him to come along and kiss her the way did. "I'm sorry," he repeated and moved away from her. "I'm sorry."

He pushed his way through the crowd, his feelings exactly as he would have felt if he had kissed another girl...guilt. He had kissed Morgana, but it was not a real kiss. It was an impulsive act...one that he paid a pound for. Yes, they kissed, but the reality of it remained.

Morgana was still Arthur's stepsister. And he was Arthur's best friend.

There could never be a chasm much wider, or closer, than it was between him and her. He knew he would never survive if he tried to cross that gap, no matter how close it seemed to the other side. He had just kissed the one woman he had wanted to kiss for the last eleven years and all he could feel was guilt and an increase in self-loathing.

The kissing stall had gotten the better of him, again, and it was not as funny as it sounded, least of all to him.

* * *

Phillip had been waiting for them at Gaius's surgery, with dry clothes for all those who had an unexpected encounter with river water. He inquired quietly after Arthur and was assured by Merlin that the Marquis would live to torment them all another day. Arthur was taken inside for his x – ray, while Merlin showed Guinevere the way to Gaius's living quarters at the back of the surgery where they changed their clothes. Whoever chose their clothes, Guinevere noted, as she stepped outside the spare room she had used, was exceptionally practical and had good taste. She never knew her clothes could be matched the way it had been sent to her. Merlin looked reasonably normal in the sedate selection that had been chosen for him, although he kept tugging at his collar as if he was uncomfortable being colour – coordinated. Their wet clothes were stowed away in the car Philip had driven to the surgery before they went back in to get the latest prognosis of Arthur's injury.

Gaius's surgery was blessedly empty that morning. He had four full – time nurses, three of whom were at the fair and one was in the adjoining hospice, looking after the five children in there. Arthur was in Gaius's consulting room, clad in a hospital gown and sitting forlornly on the bed. He looked up when Merlin and Guinevere entered the room.

"It's going to take a while," Arthur told them. "One of the children in the hospice has got a temperature, so he went to check on her."

"That's all right," Merlin replied, taking his seat next to Arthur. "We'll wait." He looked at Guinevere, who nodded her support. She took a seat on a chair opposite them and promptly began to study her fingernails. She found it rather disconcerting to look at Arthur; the man fell into a river and emerged as if he had just finished doing a photo shoot for jeans commercial. It was miracle she did not jump on him when they were alone by the river. Gorgeous, golden and dripping wet with his white t-shirt clinging to his body, Arthur Pendragon was a walking health hazard for all women. These kinds of thoughts and imagery were very disturbing to her, so Guinevere decided that she should stop looking at him to give her overly – excited mind a rest.

Besides, epiphanies aside, she was still technically '_with'_ Lance. And after this weekend, or any time after she sorts things out with Lance, Arthur would just be another acquaintance, someone she knew. She may be hopelessly attracted to him, but that was it. She was probably one of the million of girls who have swooned after Arthur Pendragon. Guinevere does not believe in swooning. But then again, she had not thought she would be meeting a modern equivalent of a prince charming, so perhaps a little swooning could be allowed in this situation.

"Phillip will wait with me," Arthur said. "I would prefer if no one waited, but I don't think Eliza and Marie would let him into the house without any confirmation that I am all right. Anyway, Merlin, you take Guinevere to the fair. Lance should be there. I will finish up here and meet the rest of you back at home..."

"That's okay. I..." Guinevere began, but Arthur would hear of it.

"You're here to see Tintagel," Arthur pointed out. "So, please, go out there and enjoy the day."

"But..." Guinevere began.

_How was she supposed to tell him she enjoyed the sight of him more than his village? _

"Arthur's right," Merlin said, looking rather reluctant with the idea himself. "Maybe Arthur can join us after Gaius has checked him."

"I will do exactly that Arthur said, getting off from the bed he had been sitting on. "Now, please, the both of you, get out of here."

"Are you sure?" Guinevere asked, as she stood up.

Arthur looked at Guinevere; something indiscernible in his blue eyes. "Of course," he replied. "I will be fine."

Merlin stood up from the bed and came to stand beside Guinevere. "Yes, he will be fine," Merlin said, looking at Arthur. It was as if the two of them had some sort of an unspoken communication going on; it was hard for Guinevere to tell because Merlin kept an impassive expression.

Therefore, it was decided that Guinevere and Merlin would go to the fair. They left Arthur at the surgery and set out for the village. There was hardly a moment for Guinevere to reflect that strange look in Arthur's eyes, for Merlin kept her talking as they walked. As they approached the village square, Guinevere was suitably distracted by Merlin, who was a great guide to have, with in- depth knowledge of the people and the places in Tintagel.

The village fair was every bit delightful as Guinevere imagined it would be. If it was up to her, she would have bought each of everything on sale there, but then, she would have to sleep outside her flat. Besides, her building had a strict rule forbidding its tenants from keeping farm animals in their flats, so that ruled out the calves and the lambs. They walked around the fair, taking their time, as Merlin had stop at every stall to say hello to someone he knew. Merlin was like the favourite nephew of the people they met; he was charming and adorable and had to politely declined countless offers of meals from those who thought he was not eating enough.

They finally arrived at the centre of the village square. There was a large group of people in one of the stalls there. Guinevere inquired the reason for the crowd.

"The kissing stall," Merlin answered, craning his neck, trying to get a glimpse of the person minding the stall.

"A kissing stall?" Guinevere asked, incredulous. "Really?"

"Biggest money-maker of the fair," Merlin said, as he took Guinevere's hand and plunged into the thick of the crowd. "Just put a pretty girl in there and suddenly all the guys turn charitable."

"Including you?" Guinevere asked, an eyebrow raised.

Merlin stopped walking. He thought about it for a moment and then shrugged. "Only because I was compelled by Arthur and Lance."

Guinevere laughed, shaking her head. She squeezed her way through the crowd, apologizing all the way, as Merlin merely bulldozed his way towards the kissing stall. As they neared the stall, Merlin stopped again. "I don't believe it," he said, looking at the stall. "It's Morgana."

Guinevere followed Merlin's gaze and saw that it was indeed Morgana. She was seated on a high stool and performing her _'duties_ with a panache that would put politician and beauty queens to shame. Merlin laughed when he saw Morgana kiss a greasy, middle-aged man who held out a five pounds note.

"Are you going to donate as well?" Guinevere asked, turning to Merlin.

"If it means getting a laugh out of it, why not?" he replied, as he checked his pocket for change.

Guinevere shook her head. When she turned back to look at the stall, she saw a familiar figure standing before Morgana. "Look, Merlin. It's Lance," Guinevere said, pointing towards them. Merlin stopped rummaging for change and looked up. Guinevere watched with interest what was going to happen. Lance certainly seemed to be taking his time, something that did not go well with the guys behind him. He leaned forward and then...

The kiss lasted half a minute, maybe more. Guinevere was not sure. But the moment she saw it, the pieces began to fall into place. No man kisses another woman like that...unless...

Unless the man was in love, or at the very least, attracted to the woman.

While Lance had always been cautious when he kissed her, it was not so with Morgana. It was as if he was finally allowing himself to enjoy the kiss...indulging himself.

Lance was in love with Morgana.

The thought momentarily stunned Guinevere, until she realized that it had been so obvious from the beginning. The strained social interactions, the stolen glances, Lance loosing the blinking competition...

She wondered if Lance knew that he was in love with Morgana and decided that he was probably in denial. Thus, the serial dating. She wondered if Merlin and Arthur knew about this. She turned to look at Merlin again.

Merlin was looking straight ahead at the stall, his face pale as if he had witnessed a horrifying accident.

"Merlin?" Guinevere called, touching his arm. Merlin turned to look at her, his face still pale. When he looked at Guinevere, his eyes became wider. He opened his mouth but he could not speak.

"Are you all right?" Guinevere asked, concerned.

"No." Merlin shook his head slowly.

"What's wrong?" Guinevere asked again.

"Everything," Merlin whispered. "Everything." He glanced at the stall.

Guinevere turned towards the stall. Lance was no longer there and Morgana sat on the stool, looking dazed. The crowd was clamouring for the same thing Lance got from Morgana. The Ladies' Club committee was having a tough explaining the situation to the men. Guinevere was curious as to what they could possibly say to the crowd. As for Morgana, once she recovered from her shock, she got down from the stool wand walked away, helped by well – meaning committee members who were probably consoling her.

Morgana does not need consoling, Guinevere decided. Her response to the kiss confirmed that her feelings for Lance were similar to what he felt for her. Guinevere shook her head, wondering if there were others in Tintagel, going about with misplaced feelings, before realizing something.

She was still technically _'with'_ Lance. That was what Lance knew and that was what Morgana knew. But what they did not know is that now Guinevere knows that they were in love with each other. And for as long as Guinevere was still in the picture, both Lance and Morgana will remain in denial, choosing to overlook their hearts just for the sake of not hurting others.

She did not belong in the picture anymore. She was the odd piece of the puzzle; she could not be forced to fit in. It was none of their fault; it is just the way things are. If she was here, everyone would be burdened guilt and nothing would happen. If she left, there was at least the guarantee that Lance and Morgana would get their happy ending.

That much, Guinevere knew she was obliged to do, in return for having had the good fortune of meeting and getting to know them.

* * *

_I know mentioned just a few more chapters, but who can really tell how the muses work, anyway? Having said that, I seriously believe, the end is near...at least for this particular story. I apologize for the delay, but real life happens and then everything goes haywire. Each review, each alert means the world to me...makes my day over and over again. I never knew _Merlin_ would give me so much happiness. And I hope that this little story makes everyone one of you happy as well. _

_New updates will be up the soonest real life would allow me. _

_Thank you for reading._


	11. Chapter 11

_It is finally done. This has been a true labour of love...I loved every moment of writing this. I may have offended some with a few chapters of Lance/ Morgana, I truly apologize. But most of you kept your patience, with me and the story...all credit to Arthur and Guinevere the lovely couple that they are. So, here it, the final update. Thank you for reading. I love each and every one of you._

_I do not own _Merlin_. I will never give up on owning the Crowned Prince of Camelot._

_Feedbacks make my day...a million times over._

* * *

Merlin lost Guinevere at the fair. He did not actually loose her; he just misplaced her, that's all. He had been too dazed after witnessing the disaster at the kissing stall that he did not realize Guinevere was missing from his side. She must have said something to him; he remembered responding, but after that, he drew a blank. He could not remember what happened next, but soon found himself sitting on a bench outside the Tintagel Post Office. It was a good place; Guinevere could find him there if she was looking for him.

He really did not think Guinevere would be looking for any one of them any time soon. He had no idea how she would be feeling right now. If she was there with him, Merlin felt that he did not have the courage to ask her how she felt. He knew what they said about hell and a woman's fury and did not particularly relish the idea of being the front lines of facing down the wrath of Guinevere. She had looked normal and had asked him if anything was wrong with him...but that could just be the initial shock.

The more he thought about it, the more frightening it seemed to him. Guinevere was out there in the peaceful village of Tintagel and God knows what she is doing...he had images of burning cottages and lots of blood and gore on the cobbled pavements. If that were to happen, Merlin decided that it was a fair reaction, seeing that she was their guests and had been subjected to the worse kind of public display of affection.

What was even more shocking to Merlin was not the kiss itself, but the person who initiated it. Having had the front row seat to this spectacle, along with several hundred villagers, Merlin clearly saw that it was Lance who kissed Morgana...he should have turned his head, but he did not. He just kissed her. Lance had kissed Morgana before, but it was the avuncular, social kind, similar to the way Merlin kisses her. There was hardly anything platonic about the half a minute lip lock that he had witnessed not too long ago.

Merlin sighed, tired for unknown reasons. It had been decided a long time ago that the day Lance kisses Morgana, like the way he did today, would be a cause for a celebration. Getting drunk had been accepted as a most suitable form of celebration. Merlin felt like getting drunk, but not for celebratory reasons. If he could get smashed enough, he knew he would not have to face Guinevere and her wrath. Or her heartbreak. Which would be even worse.

Merlin was surprised at how a day that started fairly well for him ended up this way. And it was not even lunchtime yet. Surely there had to be a quota of bad things happening to someone; it seems that he had fulfilled two weeks' worth of bad days in just half an hour. Merlin knew that he did not directly do anything wrong, but he felt that he had betrayed Guinevere; because he was a friend to Lance and Morgana. He felt as if he had taken a lamb for slaughter...he should have just stayed with Arthur at the surgery and Guinevere would not have protested. And now, here he was; confused and at loss.

Suddenly, he caught of glimpse of Guinevere at the other end of the village square. The crowd was thinning as people began to crowd into the cafes, restaurants and pubs for their lunch. She was walking determinedly towards one of the lanes that led out of the square. Merlin followed her trajectory and his breath caught when he saw Lance walking ahead of her. She was following Lance.

The image of burning cottages became more sharper and pronounced. It was time for Merlin to do something. He stood, a determined look on his face, his hands fisted by his side. He turned and started walking in the opposite direction of where Guinevere was headed. He headed straight for the castle. The servants were surprised to see him back early and those who inquired about Arthur's misadventures were greeted with pointed glares and silence. He went straight into the cellar and locked himself in. Between Arthur falling for Guinevere and Lance kissing Morgana in front of the whole village, he decided that he is better off without them and spending time alone in the cellar might just be a balm for the southbound direction his life had taken in a matter of days.

* * *

Guinevere lost Merlin at the fair. She did not actually loose him; she just misplaced him, that's all. After Lance had kissed Morgana, the crowd had surged forward. Guinevere found herself unable to complete the surging rivers of testosterone that had bee ignited by the sight of the kiss. Merlin was rooted where he stood and as the guys clamoured about her, trying to get to the front of the line, she lost Merlin. Knowing it was futile to look for him when the crowd was at its fullest swing; Guinevere moved away from the kissing stall line and headed towards the stalls at the edge of the square. Only a few elderly women were there, looking at the quilts and knitted tea-cosies. Of course, she was not there to look at the merchandizes, she just needs a little space to clear her mind. A decision had been made; she just had to sort out the million and one thoughts currently racing around in her head. She walked around, not really seeing anything, until she spotted a familiar figure heading out of the village and towards the farmlands where she and Merlin had just come from. Guinevere paused, watching Lance, who walked with his head down, his steps quick, as if he was running away from something. The opportunity to right everything was there; Guinevere decided that thinking about it would only be delaying what should have been done a long time ago.

She followed him, almost running to keep up with him. Lance walked on, his destination the river at the edge of the village; the same river Arthur had fallen into earlier this morning. Lance went a little down stream, to a little clearing by the riverbank that would have been a heavenly picnic spot, with its shady trees and abundant wildflowers. He stopped at the river's edge. Although Guinevere could not see his face, she was sure he was feeling rather tense; his body language was a dead giveaway. She hesitated by the tree line, wondering if she had been too hasty in following him there. As a response to her own question, she took a step forward.

She stood next to him, watching the river water run. It made a soothing gurgling sound, the only sound that could be heard in the peaceful surrounding. Guinevere felt instantly relaxed there, but the same could not be said of Lance, who stood looking ahead of him, oblivious to both the wonders of nature around him and Guinevere's arrival.

"I'm sorry."

Guinevere was surprised. She had hoped for some kind of response from Lance, but this was the least expected of it all.

"What are you apologizing for?" Guinevere asked, looking at him. He maintained his gaze towards the farmhouse on the other side of the riverbank, a small dark box in the horizon ahead of them.

"For being a bad host," he said, his voice quiet.

"I'm having a great time," Guinevere assured him, but Lance was not done yet.

"For not really giving...us...a real chance..." he continued, his eyes still locked unto the farmhouse.

"I am included in that '_us'_ and I don't think I did anything significant," Guinevere replied, a wan smile on her lips.

"Most of all, I am sorry for what happened at the fair," he said, this time, turning to look at Guinevere.

"You knew we were there?" Guinevere asked, amazed.

"I saw Merlin as I...as I left the stall," Lance said, shrugging. "I reckoned you and Arthur would not have been too far away."

"Oh," was all Guinevere managed for the moment.

"Arthur must be with Morgana," Lance spoke almost to himself. "He must be really pissed with me..."

"Arthur is at the surgery, getting an x – ray," Guinevere said, quickly, taking hold of Lance's arm in an effort to stop him from talking and just listen for a bit. "He fell into the river..."

Lance's eyes widened, his body tensed and Guinevere could practically hear the questions that were churning in his mind. She kept a strong grip on Lance's arm, as she continued, "He is fine. The trout probably isn't..."

Lance frowned but, thankfully, he did not interrupt.

"But Gaius insisted on an x – ray," Guinevere said. "So, Merlin and I left him with Gaius and came to the fair."

"And then..."

"You're in love with her." Guinevere was not asking for a confirmation from Lance, she was merely saying aloud something that no one, not even Lance himself, have spoken of.

Lance looked at Guinevere, the anguish of a man torn; between a girl he could not have and a girl he could not be with, clear in his eyes. He did not have to speak, Guinevere knew this to be true.

"Does Morgana know this?" Guinevere asked, letting go of Lance's arm. Not because it was awkward or anything; it was merely a gesture of distancing herself from Lance, so that he would be able to admit to himself how he truly felt about Morgana.

Lance shook his head. "She doesn't."

Guinevere nodded, looking thoughtful. "Interesting," she said, almost to herself.

"I am sorry, Gwen, but it could never..." Lance began, trying his best to salvage the situation between them.

Guinevere waved aside Lance's explanation; they hardly had a day's worth of a relationship, so there was no need for an apology over something that should have happened, but never happened. The bigger picture here was Lance and Morgana; two of the most oblivious persons on the face of the planet. Both were clearly in love with each other and yet acted so indifferently when they were together...that itself should have been a clue for everyone, but apparently, not even Merlin and Arthur, who are close to both, had an inkling of what was going on.

"Lance, it is never going to work out for anyone with you, unless it's Morgana, isn't it?"

The shock on Lance's face when he heard her confirmed to Guinevere that she should have taken a few minutes to ponder what she wanted to say. There was truth to what she had said, but it seemed rather brutal when spoken aloud. Maybe that is what Lance needs; the man has everything going for him, looks, a great job and a fantastic wardrobe of cashmere and rugby shirts. For the life of her, Guinevere could not see why Lance and Morgana were not married already; they would be perfect together.

"I..."

"You will just keep looking for a substitute for Morgana, not someone whom you would truly love," Guinevere said, her voice much softer. "That should not happen to anyone. That is almost cheating, Lance."

"I know."

"Why haven't you told her?"

"I do not know how she feels about...about me."

"And you will never know just standing here," Guinevere said. She could have told him that Morgana feels as strongly as he did of her, but she knew from experience that people are usually sceptical of the truth when it comes to love. She could have insisted it was true with the aid of a stick, but perhaps Lance deserves to know that Morgana loves him from Morgana herself. "What is stopping you from telling her..."

And at that moment, Guinevere answered her own question. "Arthur."

Lance turned to look at Guinevere. "He's my best friend," he said, as if that justified his pain. It did a bit, but not to the extent of self- flagellation that Guinevere knew Lance was going through on a daily basis.

"You're just giving excuses," Guinevere said. Lance looked surprised when he heard this, but Guinevere continued. "You think you are content with having Morgana as a friend when you are obviously not. This excuse of she being Arthur's sister is just your way of keeping things safe. Safe is good, Lance, to an extent. Nevertheless, safe can be tedious. Safe is just not you. Take the risk, reap the rewards and don't worry about Arthur. Morgana will protect you."

A smile broke Lance's severe expression; the smile turned into laughter that Guinevere joined in. "Why didn't I think of this?" Lance said, looking at Guinevere.

"You were too busy trying to make things work with other women," Guinevere said. "And now, please, go make things right with Morgana."

"What about you?" Lance asked, concern clouding his features again.

Guinevere's heart constricted, the onset of a minute grief. It was time for her to take a bow from their lives. Merlin, Lance, Morgana...Arthur. She swallowed a lump in her throat; but surprisingly managed to look and remain cheerful. She knew any other reaction would trigger sympathy from Lance. She did not want that. "I have a favour to ask of you," she said to him, her voice steady.

"Anything, Gwen."

"You are going to walk away first and then I will. You will not turn around to see me go..."

"Gwen..." Lance began to protest, taking a step closer towards her, but Guinevere took a step back, shaking her head.

"We are parting as friends, Lance. What more can we ask from each other?" Guinevere said, looking at him. "I had a great time..."

"You can't leave..."

Guinevere just smiled. This time, she took a step forward and kissed Lance on his cheek. "Thank you for a great time. Let me know what happens between you and Morgana."

There it was. The end of something that hardly ever began. Guinevere would be lying if she said she was fine; she felt all right, but there was a slight tightness on her chest that indicated otherwise. She turned away from Lance and walked away, keeping her side of the bargain. She was headed towards the general direction of the castle, thinking of suitcases and packing. She felt relief and some happiness for setting things straight with Lance. Overwhelming these good emotions was a little bit of melancholy...just a little, but enough to remind her that she will be leaving Tintagel alone. And she would be leaving behind people whom she considers as friends. She was now a mere footnote in the lives of Lance, Morgana, Merlin and Arthur.

Guinevere kept walking, not caring where she was going, just as long as she could put some distance between herself and Lance. She assured herself she would be all right; after all, she had only known them for a few days.

A lone tear ran down her cheek as she reached the front gates of the castle. As she walked up to the castle, she allowed herself to admit that she would miss them all very much. With that out of the way, Guinevere quickened her steps towards the castle, hoping to leave and get this over with as soon as she possibly could


	12. Chapter 12

Arthur was crouched behind the medicine cabinet in the ward, his senses on high alert. He had been waiting for Gaius to take him for his x – ray when the attack occurred and now Arthur had to save himself. All he had with him was his wits and the fact he was bigger than his adversaries were. He looked over the side of the cabinet and saw one of his attackers enter the ward, weapon in hand. Arthur bit his lips, wondering where the other three were, when he was suddenly ambushed from the back.

"Surrender, Arthur Big Dragon!" one of his captors yelled, climbing unto his back. Arthur stood up, carrying his captor in a piggy – back. Shrieks filled the air as he pulled his captor to his front, a task made difficult by the attacks to his knees and shins.

"Never!" Arthur cried. Then, the fatal shot was administered. His captor used his weapon and squirted water directly into his eyes. Arthur pretended to stumble and then, in a carefully choreographed manner, fell to the floor, taking down all his captors with him. There were delighted squeals as Arthur proceeded to tickle his captors. "Do you surrender?" he asked the three boys and the girl who had ambushed him.

"No!" came their united response.

"Then, I have no choice but to torture you," Arthur said with a maniacal laugh and proceeded to tickle the children. But in the end, the children won the battle, when they used their water guns and NERF cannons on him. Arthur conceded defeat with a dramatic fall once more to the floor. The children clambered on top of him, with every intentions of drenching him when Arthur saw Lance entering the ward.

"Lance!" Arthur called out, trying to get up from the floor.

"Can I have a minute of your time, Arthur?" Lance asked, crouching down on the floor next to Arthur.

"Have three. You can talk to me about the environment...ouch, Peter, watch your hands...the coalition government...England's chances at the World Cup...now that is a serious issue, mate. We should really sit down and discuss it," Arthur replied, sitting up, and removing a child who had attached himself to Arthur's leg. "Children, meet my friend, Lance. You may jump on him now."

The children did not need a second prompting. Moments later, Lance was wrestled down to the floor, with Arthur cheering the children on. The children would have battled Lance a little longer when one of Gaius's nurse entered the ward and gave a shriek of horror at the sight of the supposedly – invalid children attacking a grown man. At the sight of the nurse, the children were all of a sudden reminded of their various illnesses; viral fever, sprained wrist, stomach ache and migraine. The ailments were forgotten half an hour ago when Arthur came into the ward and asked if anyone there was brave on to take on the Pendragon. There was a boisterous battle and the result was four children who forgot their misery for a bit, a ward that looked as if a bomb had gone off in it and Arthur's hospital gown soaked at the front.

Arthur helped the children and Lance up. Turning to the nurse, he gave his most charming smile and admitted it was his fault. The nurse, a severe woman in her mid – thirties, who has seen it all, blushed and giggled, saying it was completely all right. Then, she ushered the children to their respective beds, as Arthur and Lance, with a promise of another battle to the children, left the ward and went into the waiting room where Arthur was supposed to be waiting for Gaius.

"I heard you fell into a river," Lance said, looking at Arthur, standing by the side of the table.

"I was saving Bernadette when I slipped," Arthur told him. "And if you must know, Bernadette is a puppy."

"That is an unacceptable name for a puppy," Lance said, looking very solemn.

"That's what I told Merlin," Arthur said, adjusting his hospital gown. "So, mate, what is it you wanted to talk to me about?"

"I like Morgana," Lance said, the tone of his voice quiet.

It took a moment for the three words uttered by Lance to fully register in Arthur's brains. He closed his eyes, feeling something that was surprisingly akin to relief. What Lance telling him was one of the things Arthur had always dreamt of hearing, for the sake of Morgana. And as he heard it, he could hear a choir of angels singing somewhere in the distance. He felt happy. For Morgana and Lance. Though he wondered why Lance looked as if he was in mourning for something. Realizing that Lance wants to make this a solemn conversation, Arthur followed suit.

"I know."

"Not the way you or Merlin like her."

"Of course."

"I really, really like Morgana."

"Then, why are you telling me, mate?" Arthur said, feigning indifference when all he wanted to do was hug friend for finally waking up. "Don't you know you'd get a much more positive outcome for your troubles from Morgana?"

Lance looked troubled. A light frown marred his features as he continued. "You're her brother…I need…"

"My permission? Good God, mate, it's Morgana we're talking about here…capable of taking of herself. If she knew you're here asking for permission from me to court her, she'll find a way to kill me." Arthur was not entirely lying when he said this. Though he did not doubt Morgana would kill Arthur if she ever found out Lance was asking his permission, he was a bit glad Lance had taken the effort to tell him about his feelings for Morgana first. Made Arthur feel very responsible for Morgana.

"I am your friend. Isn't it weird that…" Apparently, Lance wants to make this as painful as possible for himself.

Arthur took a deep breath and stood up. he came to stand in front of Lance. "Mate, I think it's fantastic. If I ever could choose who Morgana should be with, you'd top the list. And that is all I will say of the matter, because I don't want to spend the next ten minutes talking about how wonderful you are."

Lance smiled, looking relieved. "Thanks, mate. And how long have you known?"

"Since we were nineteen, eighteen... I don't keep record for these sort of things. I read Morgana's diary once."

"That's despicable," Lance said, looking shocked.

Arthur shrugged, grinning. "I lived in the same house as her; it's only natural I read diary. It maybe immoral but I think Morgana Pendragon du Lac has a certain charm to it, don't you think?"

Lance took a ponder it. He smiled as he said, "It does."

"See, no harm done," Arthur said, patting Lance's shoulder. "She also had a thing for one of the members of Take That, but I don't think you have to worry about it anymore."

Lance laughed, shaking his head. Arthur merely smiled, his mind invaded with a single thought.

Guinevere.

If Lance was open about his feelings for Morgana, where would that leave Guinevere? Suddenly, Arthur realized that there was actually no joy in Lance and Morgana getting together; not at the expense of Guinevere getting hurt. To bring her all the way to Tintagel and now this...

"What about Guinevere?" Arthur asked, not knowing why he felt frightened all of all sudden.

Lance actually smiled when he heard the question. "That is up to you, Arthur."

"What? Why?" Arthur was incredulous. Surely they are not expecting him to deliver the news to Guinevere. It would kill him to see her heartbroken...as much as it hurt him then to realize that Guinevere was probably hurting at this moment.

Lance put a hand on Arthur's arm. "Honestly, mate, don't you think I've picked up something about you in the last two decades I have known you?" he asked, an eyebrow raised.

Arthur was surprised when he heard this. Suddenly, thinking became too much for an arduous task. "How did you…"

"You couldn't take your eyes off her," Lance told him.

"I didn't mean to…" Arthur began but he did not know what else to say. Between dealing with Guinevere getting hurt and Lance knowing that he had been eyeing the girl who was supposed to be his girlfriend, Arthur has his plate full trying not to be an imbecile he was shaping up to be.

"Gwen is a great person," Lance said, looking at Arthur. "I think we both knew that it would not have worked between us. But I am beginning to think that my meeting with Gwen is like kismet for a lot of other things. She's like a catalyst. If she had not talked to me about Morgana, I think I would be forever stuck in relationship purgatory."

Well, that certainly released Lance from the docks, but what about him? What was Arthur going to do? And is it really possible to ask your best friend if he had broken up with his girl...girl...with Guinevere? Arthur decided that he needed to hear it, screw the consequences. He is only going to look like an idiot, but since Guinevere was involved, it really did not matter. "So, you and Guinevere..." Arthur began but thankfully Lance understood immediately what he was trying to say.

"Friends," Lance told him. "There's only one girl for me."

Friends. Arthur liked that word; when it is used to describe Guinevere and Lance. It really surprised Arthur that a single word could suddenly make everything clearer. Arthur knew what he had to. But first, he had to set Lance on the right path.

"Well, you are still there, mate. How is Morgana supposed to know how you feel when you have only told me that you really, really like her?"

Lance laughed, understanding what Arthur was trying to do. "I love her, you know," he said, his expression solemn once again.

"Tell her that."

"What are you going to do?"

_What else would he do?_ "Go after Guinevere."

"That's good."

"I want to tell her that I really, really like her too," Arthur said, smiling.

"That's even better."

"And I have never felt that way about anyone else…"

At that moment, Merlin burst into the room. Out of breath, he looked at Arthur and Lance, unable to speak.

"Where did you come from?" Arthur asked, frowning. Merlin looked as if he had been engaged in something he rarely does; participating in manual labour.

"The cellar," Merlin managed to answer, a hand to his side and breathing hard.

Arthur and Lance groaned. "How many bottles did you finish?" Lance asked, as he moved towards Merlin, to catch him if he should collapse.

Merlin looked crestfallen when he heard Lance. "That's the sad part. I forgot to take down a bottle opener. Searched the whole cellar and only found a spoon. Had two...three...seven cans of cola instead," Merlin said and as if to prove a point, hiccupped loudly. "But enough of me..." Turning to Arthur, he continued with a mock serious tone. "I must say, Arthur, a confession like that certainly puts our friendship in a bind."

"What?" Arthur asked, incredulous.

Instead of answering him, Merlin turned to Lance, "No offence, Lance, but I have always thought Arthur would say those words to me. How he never felt that way about someone else..."

Arthur and Lance actually jumped a foot apart, looking disgusted. "None taken, mate," Lance said, shaking his head. "Though I must say it is rather disturbing that you have thought of things like this."

Though Lance was grinning because he knew it was a joke, Arthur, not much so. He was just a notch below livid. "God, Merlin, I should have just fed you to the lions when we were at that safari in Kenya."

Merlin crossed his arms across his chest. "Now you know how I feel every time the both you jump on me the moment I talk to any girls," he said, an eyebrow raised in a rather condescending manner. "I am perfectly fine with my sexuality. The both of you, on the other hand...you guys kiss me all the time…" he shrugged.

"What?" Arthur and Lance advanced with murder in their thoughts.

Self – preservation has never been known as Merlin's forte. He stood his ground and continued, "I think I have been kissed by the both of you much more than the women you have dated."

"Lance?"

"Arthur?"

The sound of Merlin head being smacked simultaneously could be heard down the hallway, in the ward.

"Stop kissing me!" Merlin yelled, as he rubbed his head.

I don't have time for this," Lance said, leaving the room. "I'm going to look for Morgana."

Merlin opened his mouth to say something, but he stopped, as he realized something. "That explains everything..." he said to himself.

"What?" Arthur asked. Even Lance was waiting for Merlin to explain, with one hand on the door knob.

"Guinevere has left the castle..."

The sound of Guinevere's name caused Arthur's heart to do funny things...it almost felt as if it stopped beating for the span of time used to say the word 'Guinevere'. "Maybe she went for a walk..."

"She drove away with the Rover, Arthur," Merlin said, looking suitably distressed. "And she packed her suitcase into the car."

Arthur stood up from the chair, the only action he could do for the moment. Lance came to stand next to Merlin and looked at Arthur.

"I have to go after her," Arthur said, looking at his friends. "I have to go after her."

"You have an x – ray scheduled," Merlin pointed out.

"I am fine," Arthur said, nudging past Merlin and Lance. He called out for Phillip, who immediately came into the room. "My clothes, Phillip." The butler handed the bag he was holding.

"You fell into a river," Lance said, looking concerned. "Perhaps, a little caution..."

Arthur looked at Lance, not understanding why caution should be included when it involved the matters of the heart. He felt fine, there was no need for an x - ray, unless it was administered by Guinevere in a tiny nurse's uniform...Great, now his mind was going down the gutters again. Perhaps he needs that x – ray after all... Arthur shook his head, dismissing the thought of him getting an x-ray, but letting the one with Guinevere as a nurse persist. He quickly dressed in the spare clothes brought by Phillip and turned to his friends, his mind made up.

"Well, it looks like Guinevere would just have to risk it with Arthur, I guess," Merlin said, looking at Lance. "Arthur's condition needs more than an x-ray diagnosis..."

"Shut up, Merlin," Arthur said, throwing his hospital gown at Merlin. "I need a car."

At that moment, Gaius entered the consulting room. The three friends froze when they saw the physician. Gaius saw that Arthur was fully dressed and Merlin clutching the hospital gown Arthur was supposed to be wearing.

"Going somewhere?" the older man asked, blocking the way to the door.

"I have to confess to Morgana that I love her," Lance spoke first. His speech was made more effective by the earnest expression on his face.

"Ah." Gaius nodded. "Carry on, then." He moved aside and Lance dashed out of the room. Gaius watched Lance go and turned to Arthur and Merlin.

"Gaius, I just need half an hour..." Arthur began, but Gaius held up his hand.

"I would be a bad physician if I allowed you to go without a proper check up," Gaius said and Arthur mentally – prepared himself to fight off the nurses and Gaius who would probably be restraining him any moment now. If push comes to shove, he could yell for back up from the children in the ward. And Merlin could feign some sort of illness to distract them from him.

"On the other hand, I would be doing a great injustice to young hearts if I kept you in here any longer..."

Gaius did not get to finish what he wanted to say, for Arthur gave a triumphant shout and shot out of the room, after giving Gaius a quick hug. He caught the keys to the jeep, which Phillip had driven to the surgery, as he ran, marvelling at his hand-eye coordination, proving that he did not an x – ray after all. He jumped down the three steps that led out to the driveway and was about to jump into the jeep, when he saw something.

"No...no...no..." he groaned as he kicked the front tyres, which lay flat and depressed. "No!" Arthur looked up to the sky, his chest constricting.

_Late. It was too late..._

Merlin came to stand next to Arthur , looking as forlorn as Arthur felt. He was wheeling Eliza's bicycle; the one Merlin had offered to paint and made it into a plaid monstrosity, as a nod to Eliza's Highland origins. The people in the Highlands would scream murder if they ever saw the bicycle. Eliza prefers walking nowadays, as opposed to riding her bicycle.

"How long had she been gone?" Arthur asked Merlin.

"Twenty minutes," Merlin told him, his voice quiet.

Arthur acknowledged this with a nod. Guinevere should be out of Tintagel by now and headed towards London...if that is where was going. The constriction in his chest became tighter as he thought of the distance Guinevere had put between them.

_She was gone. He was never going to catch up with her..._

It seemed hopeless...until Arthur heard the whinny of the horses Gaius kept in the paddocks of his farmland. Arthur looked at Merlin, who grinned his approval.

Moments later, Arthur rode out of Gaius's stable, on a black mare, watched on by Merlin and an astonished Gaius, who had the keys to his VW in his hand, ready to offer it to Arthur.

* * *

It was supposed to be a dramatic departure; Guinevere forsaking a great weekend and an even better company of people, just so that she would not have the misfortune of being an unwanted third wheel in the presence of Lance and Morgana. She left the castle unnoticed, not even telling the servants. None of her hosts were there, so she reckoned Lance would just have to explain things to them when they got back to the castle. She felt as if she was being immature, she could have at least swung by Gaius's surgery and say goodbye to Arthur, but she could not. Meeting any one of them meant unwarranted sympathy. She could live with their irritation for being so uncouth by leaving without saying goodbye or thanks, but she could not let their feelings be divided over the joy of Lance and Morgana getting together and sympathy for someone they hardly knew.

Besides, she was not ready to face Arthur again, knowing that another look would only cause her to fall for him even harder. Leaving this way seemed like a clean break, but even the cleanest of wounds are known to hurt and bleed. As she drove away from the castle, she knew that time would heal and tried to convince herself that she hardly knew them and by the time she reached London, she would not be missing them anymore. A resolution that lasted all of three minutes because when she looked in the glove compartment for her GPS, she saw a pair of Raybans tucked into the corner of the compartment and was reminded once again of cerulean eyes and golden hair. She swallowed a lump and slammed shut the glove compartment, not bothering to take out her GPS, which turned out to be an unwise decision, because she ended up lost in the village for a good fifteen minutes before she finally found the road that led out to the highway.

The fair was winding down for lunch, though there were still people about. She remembered then that she had not gotten any souvenirs and tried not to entertain the thought that assured her Arthur's Raybans could be considered a souvenir. It made a particularly depressing thought; she had a great time with him and spent the night at his castle and all she had to show for that was a measly pair of eyewear. Besides, the fact remains...she was too much of a stranger to them...as they were to her...for her to qualify for any emotions as she parted from them.

Ten minutes of driving and Guinevere finally found the lane that led to the road to the highway. She almost crashed into the ditch however, when a horse came into view. She slammed her breaks and managed to stop inches from the rearing horse...at least she hoped it was horse, not an overly-fit cow with psychotic tendencies...and thought that a stray horse out on the road was not really surprising for a village like this.

What was surprising was a figure of a man dismounting the horse and coming towards her car. Guinevere swallowed, nervous, not knowing what to expect. She has heard the stories of girls stuck in remote areas, accosted by strangers...but the man coming towards her car was no stranger. Ever more golden under the afternoon sun, Guinevere's breath caught when she realized it was Arthur. Pleasantly surprised was too mild of a word to describe the soaring sensation she felt knowing that Arthur had come for her, on horseback. It did not matter if he had come to say goodbye, the most important thing was he came for her.

Unless, of course, he was there to pick his sunglasses, not wanting to have anything to do with her once she leaves the borders of Tintagel...that was a hard crash into reality. There was a limit to wishful thinking and horses were probably the norm here in Tintagel. London-born and bred, Guinevere knew how to take matters with a pinch of salt.

"Arthur? What are you doing here?" Guinevere asked, as she opened the car door and got down. She was parked in the middle of the lane, but since she was with the Marquis, she reckoned it would not be too much of a problem. Besides, Tintagel's traffic of a handful of vans and cars would not be rushing down this lane anytime soon...or so she hoped.

"I came to tell you that Lance and Morgana should be together by now," he said, coming to stand in front of her. He kept a respectful distance to her personal space, but with a man like Arthur, it was hard not to feel overwhelmed, even if he was a hundred paces away.

"That's good. They belong together," Guinevere said, nodding her approval.

Arthur smiled. "I know," he said. "Took them eleven years to sort things out." He shrugged and then looked at Guinevere. "But, I am not like that," he said, taking a step to close in on her personal space. "Guinevere, there is something I have to do."

_Say goodbye? Ask for your sunglasses? _

"What is it?" Guinevere asked, her eyes locking unto his. She was aware that she had stopped breathing, but that hardly mattered to her. He touched the side of her face, looked at her for what seemed like an eternity and finally bent down and kissed her. Full on the lips, holding nothing back. Guinevere, for the first time in her life, felt the experience of her limbs turning to jelly.

Arthur drew back, when breathing became necessary, his eyes closed as if still savouring something from the kiss. He opened his eyes and looked at her. "I've been wanting to do that since I saw you."

Guinevere could certainly relate to that; she too had wanted to kiss him, perhaps maybe do a little more than kiss, when she saw him in his towel at the flat. However, for now, all she could articulate was a brief, "Oh."

"And I would like you to be my guest…my date for the ball tomorrow evening. That is why I am here. I want to take you back to Tintagel, as my guest this time," Arthur explained. Guinevere found it hard to concentrate when she looked at his lips...she could only see him kissing her.

"I…." Guinevere began, not knowing how to put the fact that she was a guest of his best friend until half an hour ago in a more delicate manner.

"I know you had a …a…."

"Thing..." Guinevere offered the best she could do, considering the distraction she was faced with.

"A thing with Lance," Arthur continued without missing a beat. Then, taking her hand into his, he continued, "But I believe sometimes Fate plays us that way. If you had not been with Lance…"

"I don't think I ever was with Lance," Guinevere was quick to correct him. Sure, she had kissed Lance on two occasions; but if they wanted to get technical about it, both could not be considered a kiss; one was gratitude and the other was a test. Of course, Arthur was probably not interested in dissecting all this.

"But you meeting him had culminated into Morgana and Lance getting together," Arthur said, earnestly. "And now, here we are."

"Yes. Here we are," Guinevere said, looking at Arthur. Last week, she saw him in a towel at his flat...and today, she was standing in the middle of a lane in a village, holding hands with him.

"So, would you be my guest for the remainder of the weekend. It would mean so much…" Arthur's tone was earnest enough, but he kept the desperation to a minimum with a casual shrug.

Guinevere smiled. "It will be my honour to be your guest, Archibald," she said, laughter in her voice.

Arthur's expression of horror was a sight to behold. "What? Oh God, you saw the portrait?"

"Yes." She was biting her lips, trying not to burst out laughing, enjoying herself immensely.

"And all my names?"

"Those are very impressive names, Percy," Guinevere said, nodding.

Arthur groaned, rolling his eyes. "Can't you be impressed with something else?" he asked, distressed. "My castle? My Jag? My blue eyes?"

"Those are very impressive, but nothing beats Archibald, Percy," Guinevere told him solemnly.

"I do a rather fantastic David Bowie impersonation," Arthur said.

"I'm sure you could, Archibald," Guinevere said. "I think..."

Arthur was quick to interrupt her. "I make a great soufflé…"

Guinevere acknowledged this with a nod. "Of course. I… " she began, but once again Arthur interrupted her.

"And I have a yacht moored at the Thames."

"You do?" It was not as impressive as his six-hundred year old castle, but it was still something.

"No. But if you can be impressed by that, I can make arrangements for it," Arthur said, looking very thoughtful.

Guinevere laughs, enjoying Arthur's distress, but deciding that she had teased the Marquis enough. "Well, I was going to say you are a rather impressive kisser, but by all means, if you prefer talking…"

Arthur's look of surprise was quickly replaced with that of delight. He did not need a second invitation, as he pulled Guinevere towards him and this time, took his time kissing her. But the kiss, as amazing as it was, came to a grinding halt when Guinevere's mobile phone rang.

"I have to get that," Guinevere said, drawing away rather reluctantly. She reached for her back pocket and extracted her mobile phone, only to have it taken away by Arthur.

"No, you don't," he said, holding the mobile phone above her. The mobile continued to ring, playing Guinevere's utilitarian ringing tone since she could not choose a ringtone in a selection of a few million.

"It might be an emergency," Guinevere said, standing on her toes, trying to grab the phone.

"What could be more urgent than kissing?" Arthur asked. Guinevere had to admit he had a point. The mobile kept ringing and Arthur checked the number to inform Guinevere who was calling her. He bristled visibly when he saw the number. "It's from the castle," he told her. "Bin it."

Guinevere was horrified. "Arthur!"

Arthur relented, sulking. He pressed the button to talk. Before he could say 'hello', Merlin's excited voice was heard on the other side of the line.

"Guinevere! Arthur's looking for you. He's..."

"Bye, Merlin," Arthur said, keeping the conversation short, hoping Merlin would understand.

"What? Arthur? What..." Guinevere reached for her mobile again, and this time managed to successfully extract it from Arthur's hand, but Arthur had already terminated Merlin's call.

"Where were we?" Arthur said, closing in on Guinevere, with a very alluring glint in his eyes. Guinevere smiled, knowing what was going to happen. She mirrored Arthur's movements, her eyes on the delicacy that is his lips...

Her mobile ran again; shrill, annoying and very persuasive. Arthur moved away from her, gritting his teeth. Guinevere took hold of his hand, not letting him go any further, as she answered the call.

"It must be something important," she told Arthur, and then into the mouthpiece, said, "Hello."

"Guinevere, it's Merlin." Merlin's voice was a tinny shriek, and he spoke too quickly, as if afraid she would hang up.

"Yes, Merlin," Guinevere said for Arthur's benefit, who looked as if he could murder her mobile phone. "I was supposed to call you earlier but I lost my way in the cellar..."

"That's great," she said, finding it hard to concentrate on Merlin since Arthur had found a way to keep himself occupied; he was tracing the lines on her palm, with his lips.

"You're coming back to Tintagel, aren't you?"

"Yes. Your Marquis is very persuasive."

"I do not need details," Merlin said. "But, I do need to say this. Thank you, Guinevere."

"Why?" Guinevere asked, puzzled.

"For asking Lance to follow his heart. And for making Arthur follow his."

Guinevere smiled. Merlin sounded as if she had done something monumental when all that she did was to point out a few overlooked facts. As for Arthur...she cannot take credit for him coming after her...that is Fate. "I..." she began to explain, but Merlin interrupted her.

"You are something special, Guinevere," he said. "That is why Arthur's there. Is he glaring at you?"

"Yes, but in the general direction of the mobile phone."

Merlin chuckled. "That's good. I'm done now."

"Thank you, Merlin," Guinevere said, watching Arthur as he kissed her finger one at a time, all the while looking at her. The look was a challenge for Guinevere to do something about his ministrations and nonchalance, as if people engaged in mild forms of foreplay in the middle of a village lane every other day. "One more thing, Merlin. Unless it's a national emergency, please..."

Merlin did not let her to finish the sentence. "I understand," he said, laughter in his voice. "You must be most impressed. See you in a bit, Guinevere."

Guinevere laughs and presses the button to end the call. Arthur drew her closer to him by pulling her hand and placing it on his shoulder. He took the mobile phone from her hand and politely asked, "May I?"

Guinevere wondered why he was seeking permission when he flung the mobile phone into the bushes by the side of the lane.

It was the first of the many mobile phones Arthur had broken since he kissed her that day.

* * *

Apparently, it was the first time since becoming the Marquis that Arthur Pendragon had brought companion to the Harvest Ball. The ball was the culmination of Tintagel's Harvest Festival; open to everyone on the village, so most of Tintagel got a look at his companion for the evening and agreed that she was one charming young lady. The villagers also agreed that it was about time Morgana and Lance got together and no one was really surprised when they left the festivities quite early on. Apparently, there were a lot of things Lance and Morgana had to catch up with.

Merlin danced with almost every one of the committee members of Tintagel Ladies' Club before retiring to a corner of the ballroom where he was seen talking to the dark – haired girl produce girl for the rest of the evening. The girl wore tennis shoes with her summer frock, quite out of place in a room full of people in elegant evening gowns and tuxedos. But she suited Merlin perfectly fine; he was wearing a powder blue suit and a white shirt with frills on its front. This disaster occurred because Arthur, Lance and Morgana were too distracted to check his clothes beforehand. But since the suit was not neon, everyone just let him be.

It was nearing midnight and the festivities were winding down for the evening. Guinevere was seated at a table in the corner of the vast ballroom, her feet bare and up on a chair in front of her. Her silver strappy stilettos were on the floor next to her, and Guinevere wished such a torture device was never invented. Her feet were killing her and it was the damn shoes' fault. And Arthur's, but she too was responsible for her predicament. She should have known better when emerging from her room in the black, full-skirted evening gown with the plunging back. Arthur never let her out of his sight and she cheerfully danced with him the whole evening, happy with his attention. And now, her feet was paying the price for it. She wished she could just unscrew her feet and get a new one. She drained off her glass of champagne and looked around the room for a waiter. The catering staffs were nowhere to be seen, their job done for the evening. But she did manage to catch a glimpse of golden hair and suddenly she no longer felt any pain.

Arthur was standing at the main door leading into the ballroom, thanking the guests and the villagers who had attended the ball. It was customary for the Marquis to do this and it was the only time this evening he has been more than arm's length away from her. She sighed when she saw him; handsome, confident and equally attentive to everyone who came to thank him. He was younger than most of the guests, but it was obvious he was respected and admired. He had an easy way with people, always looking to put them at ease. But the fact remained; Arthur Pendragon is and would always be the Marquis of Tintagel.

This realization startled Guinevere, but not as much as when Arthur suddenly turned and looked at her. Even from across the room, she could see his blue eyes twinkling. He had promised an extended celebration, just the two of them, and was now approaching her with every intentions of keeping his word. Guinevere smiled when she saw him, though she found herself unable to match Arthur's excitement. It was because of the thoughts that kept repeating in her mind...

_What is to happen tomorrow? _

_What is to happen to her beyond this weekend?_

To be honest, Guinevere knew that Arthur was not in the same league as she was. Lance and Merlin perhaps, but Arthur, with his fortunes and position in society and ancestral titles was a world apart from her. She knew that such feudal thoughts belong in the Middle Ages, but she could not shake of the feeling that she will just be another notch on the Marquis' bedpost tomorrow. Before she could think any further on the matter, Arthur was at the table. Guinevere moved her feet to the floor, letting him have the chair. He drew the chair beside her and sat down, sighing, putting one arm around her shoulder.

"What is it?" Arthur asked, as he pulled her close and kissed the top of her head.

_How did he..._

"Nothing," Guinevere replied, looking at him.

Arthur looked at her, an eyebrow raised quizzically. "Doesn't seem like nothing," he observed, his cerulean eyes made more mesmerizing by his golden lashes.

_This man...he is too perfect_

But to Arthur, she spoke, "Just thinking how wonderful this evening is. This...everything...is perfect."

"It is perfect," Arthur remarked, his eyes locked unto hers. He kissed her gently on the lips, as his hands dropped lower to her bare back.

Guinevere slowly drew away from him, taking his other hand into hers. She looked at him, registering his surprise. "I am not looking to be another entry in your black book, Arthur," she said, her voice quiet.

Arthur took a deep breath. When he looked at her, he had a small smile on his lips. "I don't have a black book, Guinevere."

Guinevere knew that Arthur too knew what she was talking about. She did want to seem too clingy or too distant...she did not want to seem like anything save for the fact that she really liked him.

Arthur must have realized what she was feeling. "We'll take it slow..." he began in a soothing voice.

The words stumbled out of her mouth before she could even think about it. "Not too slow." Her words were whip-fast and as soon as she said it out aloud, she could feel her resolve of not wanting to seem too desperate crumbling.

If Guinevere had been embarrassed, Arthur was amused. He grinned, as he pulled her towards him. "Everyday is a revelation with you, Guinevere."

"I am just being myself, Arthur," she said, wincing.

_Just me, myself and my big fat mouth. _

"Stay that way."

"I suppose I could. Where as you..." Guinevere dropped her gaze, looking away.

"What?" Arthur asked, curious.

Guinevere knew she had to get this over with sooner or later. She took a deep breath and turned to Arthur. "Well, the other day at the Hall, you told me you were a..."

"Libra, loved outdoor sports and English food?"

"Yes. Apparently there is more to you." Guinevere tried to smile, but it came out rather forced.

"No, that's about it," Arthur assured her. "Oh, and I am trying to grow a vegetable garden, but it's not going the way I want it to."

Guinevere reached out and touched his face, pushing away the errant locks that fell over his eyes. "You have your own village and castle, Arthur. You are the heir to a fortune of billions and you are twenty – second in line for the Throne. I'd say your introduction barely scratched the surface."

Arthur got hold of her hand on his face and took it into his own. Guiding her hands towards his heart, he looked at her, a silent implore in his eyes, asking her to understand what he was about to say. "Guinevere, the village, the castle, the fortune...these belong to others. I am merely a caretaker and I have to pass it on when my time is up. I would not miss it if I did not have any of it tomorrow. Those three things I told you when I first met you are truly me. My biggest fortunes are three good friends who would kill and die for me." He placed her hand above his heart, where she could feel the warmth of his skin and the beat of his heart. He continued, "And now, you. I have nothing else...except a sorry excuse for a vegetable garden."

Guinevere bit down her laughter, for Arthur looked very serious when he mentioned his vegetable garden.

"What are you thinking?" Arthur asked, interrupting her thoughts.

"I think I can help you to tend your garden, Arthur," Guinevere said, struggling to keep her expression neutral.

"Is that a double-entendre for something?" Arthur asked, looking very solemn, except for the mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

"I am a very serious gardener, Arthur," Guinevere told him, equally solemn.

"Guinevere!" Arthur cried. "A man can only take that much..." He did not finish what he wanted to say, as he pulled her towards him and kissed her; a sort of a prologue to his promised celebrations. They drew apart when one of the catering staff came over to their table to clean up the used glasses.

"I don't want to rush into this, Arthur," Guinevere said, looking at Arthur.

"I have waited all my life for someone like you. If you think we should take it slow, then we shall take it slow," Arthur said, searching her eyes. Then, in a lighter tone, he added, "But not too slow."

"Of course," Guinevere replied.

He kissed her again, this time on her forehead. "Guinevere," he said.

"Yes, Arthur?"

"Just saying your name aloud." He shrugged, shaking his head. "You are Guinevere. Gwen hardly suits you."

"Oh," Guinevere said. "Well, in that case...Archibald..."

"Guine-vere..." Arthur pretended to chide her.

"Yes, Percy?"

Arthur groaned. He looked at Guinevere, frowning, "Don't you have any embarrassing middle name?"

"No, Percy. I don't."

"You...are very dangerous..."

"And you have impressive middle names..."

It was fascinating to watch the realization dawn on Arthur. He finally figured out Guinevere's ruse with his middle names. He drew her into his arms again and kissed Guinevere for her troubles. When she was suitably impressed, he kissed her again.

Arthur Archibald Percy Tristan Pendragon was a most impressive kisser Guinevere had ever had the pleasure of knowing and being kissed. However, since they decided to take things slow, Arthur and Guinevere spent the rest of the evening in the castle study; kissing, talking, sharing several bottles of excellent wine, but mostly, talking. Guinevere fell asleep just at the crack down, nestled in Arthur's embrace, content and feeling that this was where she belonged all this while.


	13. Chapter 13

Eleven months later...

It was past midnight Arthur was the only person awake in the castle. Unable to sleep, he had quietly slipped out of bed, kissing Guinevere as he pushed a pillow to her side for her to hug in his absence. Guinevere sighed in her sleep and pulled the pillow closer; an action that made Arthur surprisingly jealous. He left the room soundlessly and went towards the room at the other end of the hallway. He did not know why he was creeping along the hallway like some second – rate thief, it was his castle and he had every right to wander along the hallways in the middle of the night. Perhaps he did not want to be discovered. Whatever the reason, the moment he entered the room and saw the baby, all other insignificant thought ceased to be. A smile crept up the corners of his lips as he approached the baby's cot in the middle of the room.

The most recent addition to their lives and the Pendragon family was just five weeks old but already has a firm grip of all their lives. It was funny how they would drop everything just to spend a few hours with her. The baby was asleep then, pouting slightly, her chubby arms raised over her head. Arthur just stood by the side of her crib and watched, he did not want to disturb her. He took a deep breath; happy, satisfied, his thoughts clear. He decided then that nothing would ever beat this feeling.

He sensed movement behind him, but he did not have to look to know that it was Guinevere. She must have realized he was gone; she knew she would find him with the baby. He held out his hand for her and pulled Guinevere towards him, wrapping his arm around her.

"She's a beautiful baby," Guinevere said, looking at the sleeping baby.

"Eyes like her Mum…" Arthur replied, kissing the top of Guinevere's head.

"Hair like her dad…" Guinevere said, as she brushed the bits of hair gently away from the baby's forehead.

"That's a beautiful baby," Arthur said, looking at Sophia Ygraine Hunith du Lac, first – born of Lance and Morgana. Arthur, along with Merlin, was baby's Sonia, godfathers; a position that was as delightful as much as it was frightening. The delight of having a new member to their family and the daunting prospects of having to behave and live like a responsible adult, all the time. But Lance assured them both that baby Sonia had still a little more growing up to do before Arthur and Merlin can make any impression on her. Morgana added that by then, the world would have discovered treatments and medication to make Merlin and Arthur normal humans. Arthur had not heeded Morgana's words that day at the hospital, because he had too preoccupied with trying not to drop the baby. Surprisingly, Merlin had held the baby like a professional baby – holder, if there ever was such a thing. Holding baby Sonia the day she was born had caused Arthur to come to a resolution, and standing in the dark nursery with Guinevere, he decided to act on it.

"I love you, Guinevere," Arthur said, turning her around so that he could see her.

Guinevere smile was all he needed. "I love you too, Arthur," she said and Arthur marvelled at how the effects of the words remained unchanged to him since Guinevere first said to him, at the end of Lance and Morgana's wedding ceremony six months ago. Three simple words and he felt like the king of the world.

"I got you a gift."

"Another one?" Guinevere was surprised. "Is it suddenly Christmas? I am positively inundated with gifts today. First the white dress and the hat and then the St. Tropez weekend..."

Arthur was quick to explain. "The white dress is sort of a gift to me..." Guinevere raised an eyebrow. "Darling, please. It's not like that. I like seeing you in a flowing white dress." He did not want to add the other parts of his fantasy; his castle, summer and emerging from the garden he was still trying to make something of; that is for another time. " The St. Tropez weekend is hardly a gift because I am sharing it with you." As he spoke, he brought up his other hand and held it out in front of Guinevere, causing her to inhale sharply. "But this one here..." Moonlight fell on his open palm and the diamonds gleamed.

"Arthur, I …" Guinevere began, but was too overwhelmed to speak. She had not been expecting this. Even Arthur had not planned on this; he had other ideas, more extravagant ones involving private jets and tropical beaches, but at that exact moment was just right, even if the temperature was just above freezing.

Arthur tried to downplay everything, for Guinevere's benefit. He knew the magnitude of what he was doing and he was prepared for that. Guinevere just needs a little time. "It's a weird gift, I know," he said, with a shrug. "It's my mother's." It was actually his great – grandmother's, a Pendragon family heirloom, six emeralds encircling a diamond set in gold.

By then, Guinevere was laughing, but she had tears in her eyes. Arthur would have been worried, but Guinevere seemed to be holding herself all right...there should be nothing distressing for a girl facing fancy jewellery.

"The gift is for you, but the promise behind it…I'll take it in exchange for the rocks," Arthur said, one finger lifting her chin so that he could see her eyes. Even in the darkness, he could see the gold in her dark eyes; patterns that are forever etched unto his mind.

"Arthur…" Guinevere spoke, breathing again.

This was it. Arthur could not remember anything of the fancy words he wrote down and practised with Merlin. He was hardly nervous, because this was what he had wanted for a long time. He had always been honest with Guinevere and decided that this occasion does not need manufactured declarations of love. He just needed to tell her what he felt. "I love you. Not just this moment, but also from the moment I saw you. I wanted to give this to you when went for dinner, but the maître-d with the fake Italian accent sort of put me off. But this moment here…it feels…right.

"Right." Guinevere's remark was so ambiguous that Arthur did not if she was echoing his sentiments or giving her approval.

"I am happy," he said quite simply, for that is the truth. He actually felt like running down the hallway, whooping like mad man, but that could wait, he decided.

"So am I. these are tears of joy, believe me," Guinevere said, smiling.

"So…" Arthur bit his lower lips, waiting.

Guinevere laughs, shaking her head. "You haven't asked me yet, darling."

"Ah." Arthur knew he was forgetting something. But Guinevere was charmed by this unfortunate slip and kissed him for it.

Arthur had always believed that tradition must be upheld. Looking at the woman he loved more than anything in the world, he said, "Guinevere, will you marry me?"

Guinevere closed here eyes. "Perfect," she said, opening her eyes again. "I do."

Regardless of the countless rehearsals of this moment he had gone through with Merlin, Arthur found himself stunned when he heard Guinevere speak. It was one thing hearing it in Merlin's ridiculous falsetto...it was something else hearing it from the woman he had just proposed to...he had just proposed marriage to a woman...these kinds things do not happen on a daily basis.

"I do, Arthur," Guinevere said again, giving his hand a slight squeeze, causing his to snap out of his reverie.

Arthur laughed and took Guinevere's hand into his. He slipped the ring into her finger; perfect fit. Guinevere had fresh tears in her eyes. Arthur kissed her, gently and pulled her into an embrace. "I love you," he said, whispering. "I cannot think of the next five minutes without you, let alone a lifetime. Thank you for finding a way into my life."

Guinevere drew away from his embrace and looked at him. "Without you, it's just life," she said, taking his hand into hers. She kissed his hands, adding, "With you, it's amazing."

Arthur smiled and pulled Guinevere in for another kiss. He did not get the opportunity to kiss his fiancée as the lights in the nursery suddenly came on.

"Didn't I tell you, darling, that we'd find them in here?" Morgana's voice rang clear in the silent nursery, causing both Arthur and Guinevere to wince; at being caught and for the sake of the baby. They both checked the baby, who gave a gurgle but kept on sleeping. Then, both Arthur and Guinevere turned to face Lance and Guinevere, still in their travelling coats, and regarding them with raised eyebrows. Lance had something to do in London for the day and since Morgana had been confined to the castle since Sonia's birth, decided that she needed a break from diapers and feeding bottles. The idea was cheered on by Merlin, Arthur and Guinevere, who relished the chance of baby – sitting Sonia and promptly sent Lance and Morgana to London.

"Stop stalking our baby, mate," Lance said, his eyes twinkling in mirth. If Morgana was amused, she did not show . Something else had caught her attention. Realization dawned at her a moment later.

"Oh my God, he did it!" Morgana said, rushing to Guinevere, holding out her hand towards Guinevere, who was laughing. "When?" She asked, taking Guinevere's hand into hers to look at the ring.

"Five minutes ago," Guinevere replied.

" After months of carrying it in his shirt pocket since our wedding day," Lance said, looking at Arthur, who gave a sheepish smile.

Guinevere looked surprised at the revelation, but Arthur just shrugged. "It's all about the right moment," he said.

"Congratulations, mate." Lance said, giving Arthur a thump on his back. Guinevere got a kiss on her cheek. "It's about time."

Morgana too congratulated Guinevere, at the acquisition of such a fine piece of jewellery...and getting engaged to her stepbrother. "I'm so happy for you...for the both of you."

Arthur and Guinevere smiled, acknowledging their best wishes.

"So, why don't you celebrate elsewhere? Leave our baby alone for a bit?" Lance suggested, grinning.

"Or try working on one of your own?" Morgana added her own suggestion. She actually did not mind Arthur and Guinevere lavishing attention on her baby, but she really did wish they could get on with it and produce some playmates for Sonia and nieces or nephews for her soon. She knew that Arthur and Guinevere's marriage was inevitable, but they were just taking too long with it.

Arthur pretended to take offence at the so-called snub. He took hold of Guinevere's hand and marched towards the door, very determined looking. "Let's go, Guinevere. Let's get started on our baby," he said. The, he paused, turned to look at Lance and Morgana, adding, "And we'll damn well make sure our baby is prettier than theirs."

Guinevere actually blushed, but she laughed as Arthur pulled her into the hallway. He kissed her and looked down at her, who nodded her agreement with whatever he had planned for their engagement '_party'_. As they neared his room, they suddenly saw a figure dash from across the opposite hallway. It was a girl. And she was headed in the direction of Merlin's room. Arthur let go of Guinevere's hand and called out, "Hello?"

The girl froze and turned around. It was the produce girl, the one who Merlin thought he was seeing in secret; but did not know that Arthur and Guinevere had once followed him to the restaurant in London where he had an '_intimate'_ dinner with his produce girl.

The girl turned around to face Arthur and Guinevere, who had come to stand next to him. The girl looked identical to the proverbial deer caught in the spotlight. "Where are you from?" Arthur asked, arms crossed and looking like a stern schoolmaster chiding a student. He had hoped his question would cause her to admit she was with Merlin, but her answer was quite different from what Arthur and Guinevere were expecting.

"Limerick."

Arthur could feel Guinevere laughing quietly next to him.

"Right," Arthur said. "I am Arthur Pendragon. This is Guinevere Leodegrance. You are…"

"Freya Sebastian," the girl spoke quickly and quietly.

"Nice to meet you," Arthur said. Guinevere was openly laughing now.

"Likewise."

Arthur was about to ask where she was headed, when Merlin appeared at the end of the hallway. "Freya, what happened to the choc…Oh no!" He froze when he saw Arthur and Guinevere with Freya.

"Merlin," Arthur said, nodding at his friend, as Merlin came to stand next to Freya.

"Arthur. Guinevere," Merlin said, nodding at them, but not quite looking at them. He was blushing, his face a deep scarlet that caused Arthur to worry his friend might collapse at anytime. But that did not mean Merlin would get a free pass off this.

"This is Freya," Arthur said, gesturing at the girl that Merlin was obviously very well acquainted with...well enough for her to be wearing Merlin's plaid shirt and boxers.

"Yes. This is Freya..." Merlin said, looking as if he was waiting for some sort of distraction to make his escape from Arthur and Guinevere.

"Oh, so you know her," Arthur said, feigning relief. "I just thought my kitchen was broken into by someone from Limerick with a craving for ...what is that?"

"Chocolates, darling," Guinevere added helpfully.

"Chocolates?" Arthur said, looking at Guinevere with mock surprise, before turning to Merlin with an impressed expression. "Chocolates."

"We were just…" Merlin began, but Arthur held up a hand, halting him.

"Spare me the details," he said. He turned and took Guinevere's hand again, leading his fiancée back to his room. "Have fun you two," he called out over his shoulder. Merlin and Freya, glad to be out of the spotlight, disappeared down the hallway.

"You shouldn't tease Merlin like that," Guinevere told Arthur as they paused outside his room. "The poor boy looked as if he was going to faint anytime."

Arthur smiled. "He should be glad I didn't kiss him," he told Guinevere, who was not looking at him as he spoke. She was looking at behind Arthur, a surprised look on her face. "What is it?"

"I saw the ring," Merlin said, appearing at Arthur's side. He gave Guinevere a hug. "I feel sorry for you, Guinevere," he said, as they drew apart. He looked solemn enough, but there was no mistaking the laughter behind his eyes. He turned to Arthur. "And you, mate," Merlin swallowed, his voice catching. "I always thought I was the one..."

"Shut up, Merlin!" Arthur said, glaring at his Merlin, who was still looking at him with puppy eyes and an exaggerated trembling of his lower lips. "Get lost before I kill you."

Merlin's actions were surprisingly quick. He gave Arthur a sound kiss on his cheek before running away. Arthur started to go after him but was stopped by Guinevere.

"Another time?" Guinevere said. "I thought we were going to celebrate."

"We are," Arthur said, taking hold of Guinevere again. He pulled her close, looking down at her, forgetting everything and everyone else.

"What are you thinking?" Guinevere asked, touching the side of Arthur's face.

"How good everything is," Arthur said. "Merlin finally found someone. Lance and Morgana married with a baby. And we're engaged…"

Arthur's heartfelt commentary was halted by Morgana, who had stepped onto the hallway, with Lance behind her, laughing. "Enough with the monologue, Arthur," she said; her voice an urgent whisper that carried down the hallway. "I don't think Guinevere wants to spend her recent engagement in the hallway!"

"She's right," Guinevere admitted. But the look in her eyes indicated that she did not mind a cold hallway. She was happy where she was, as he was with her. But, as the Marquis, he had his responsibilities for his Marchioness.

"I shall make amends immediately," he said, swooping down to kiss her and lead her into his room and kicked the door close to commence the celebration of his engagement.

* * *

Arthur and Guinevere were married a week later.

Merlin introduced Freya Sebastian to the rest of them during Arthur and Guinevere's wedding. The rest of them were surprised, not for meeting Freya, but seeing Merlin in a vintage tuxedo that was the epitome of class and elegance. Of course, Merlin would not be able to resist exercising his artistic license, but they decided that his work boots was excusable, though Morgana was convinced Calvin Klein would kill them all for allowing such atrocity. It was actually rather charming, because the boots matched Freya's, who wore it with a little black dress. The rest of them supposed they should be thankful Merlin's clothes were not neon, paisley or plaid.

The Marquis and Marchioness welcomed their first – born son, Tristan Uther, exactly nine months after their engagement. Arthur Pendragon gave up his CEO post at Pendragon Industries and decided to concentrate on fatherhood and farming. He is still working on his garden but looks forward mostly to his wife visiting him at his garden, wearing a white, flowing dress.

~~~THE END~~~


End file.
